Heroes Don't Just Fade Away
by KColl2003
Summary: After the event of Not Fade Away, the senior partners are angry. And That's not good. For Anybody.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Heroes Never Just Fade Away

Rating: R

Story: ActionAdventure

Feedback: In lieu of a Faithbot yeah.

E-Mail: If I own the characters, why have Faith and Cordelia escaped? Woe is me.

**FIC: Heroes Never Just Fade Away (1?)**

"Well, personally, I kind of want to slay the dragon." Angel replied. "Let's go to work," he finished before starting forward, eyes fixed on the swarming hordes charging them.

"Always good to have a plan, mate."

Angel's mouth opened to reply to his smart-ass grand-childe. Suddenly the ground shuddered beneath his feet, knocking him onto his back. An ear-pounding explosion boomed through the cold night air, causing the blood to thunder through his head. His eyes widened as the approaching demonic mob were consumed in fire and the two buildings flanking the monsters collapsed in on themselves, large masonry falling on the screaming beasts.

"Wow. That went even better than I expected," commented an unanticipated but very familiar voice behind him.

Unable to believe what he was hearing, Angel sprang to his feet and spun around to confront the smirking interloper. "Harris! What are you doing here?"

"That's gratitude for you, hey X?"

Angel looked up to the fire escape landing above, his ability to be shocked rapidly diminishing but he was still surprised to see another familiar figure looking down at him, a trademark sardonic expression on her face. "Faith."

"The one," the Slayer grabbed a hold of the fire escape of the rail and vaulted over it to the ground, landing on the rain-slicked cobbles with feet spread, and knees bent to minimise the impact, "the only. How's it hanging?"

"Who are these people, vampire?" Illyria demanded.

Even the rain-swept darkness, Angel saw Faith's eyes flash. "Back the fuck off, Blue Bitch. FYI, Fred was a real nice gal and seeing some demon slut walking around in her body is pissing me off. And if there's one thing ya don't wanna see is me pissed off."

"Amen to that," Xander muttered, "three days a month and I just find myself a bunker and hide."

"You think to speak to the great Illyria in such a tone!" screamed the goddess.

Faith smiled at her. "Just did, didn't I?"

"Oooh," Spike put in, "cat-fight."

Angel decided to step in before things got physical. "Look," he stepped between the two glaring females, definite battle of the Alpha-females, "let's get out of here before starting the hair-pulling contest."

"Hate to say it," Xander glanced towards the wreckage. "But Deadboy has a point."

"Oooh."

Faith's face softened at Gunn's moan. In an instant the Slayer was crouched down by the injured African-American. "Yo, Chuck," she whispered, "hang in on there tough guy. It'll be five by five." The brunette glanced over her shoulder to Xander. "X? Wanna get us some help?"

"Sure," Xander spoke into a handset. "Girls, we need you now."

Angel's eyes widened as a dozen or so ropes dropped from the two buildings flanking them, and a whole bunch of teen girls, every one of them a Slayer, rappelled down to their position even as another ten or so girls charged towards them from the far side of the alley. Just what was going on? "You idiot," he looked towards a suddenly furious looking Xander Harris, the look in the man's solitary eye strangely disconcerting, "you've no idea what you've done have you?"

* * *

Connor gasped as he ran home, his side a mass of bruises. He'd been hit harder than Hamilton had hit him, but only by the Beast. But his pain was a secondary concern next to Angel. What was going to happen to him? He wished now he'd stayed, it wasn't as if he had a great record of obeying his biological father. 

But that was the problem, he'd done so much wrong in the past, he had to do this for his father.

Turning the corner leading into his street, he stopped, eyes narrowing as he noted his mother and father stood by the door to their house, arguing with two women. Speeding up, Connor was at his house in seconds. "What's going on here?" he demanded as he pulled to a stop, hackles rising. He'd never hit a girl, well unless he counted falsely but fondly remembered pillow fights with his sister, but there was something about these two girls that got his hackles rising. Something that told him they were warriors. Not to mention something strangely familiar, although he could have sworn that he'd never met either of them in either of his lives.

The girls, one a dread-locked African-American beauty, the other a pretty, red-head, turned to face him. "Connor," the black girl spoke, "I'm Rona, and this is Vi, you need to come with us, now. All three of you."

Connor shook his head and crossed his arms. "I don't think so."

"Damn it," said Vi, "we're here to protect you."

Connor laughed. "Really don't need any. And why should I trust you?"

The black girl smiled. "Break me off a switch, son. There's about to be a whoppin'."

Connor blinked, something stirring in his memories. Realising his father was starting towards the girls, hand reaching into his pocket to probably grab his cell, Connor stepped into his father's path. "It's okay, dad," he soothed before turning to the girls, "you know Faith?"

"Not biblically," Vi smirked, "we're strictly monogamous lesbians."

His eyes widened at the visual images, absently noting his father's choked coughing and mother's blushing. "Not helping, Vi," Rona admonished. "We know her, she sent us to get you."

"My-," conscious of the presence of his adoptive parents, he changed what he'd been about to say, "Angel-."

"Faith and the others are taking care of it," Rona interrupted. "Now, are you coming? You'll all be targets."

"The rest of the family-," his father began.

This time it was Vi who interrupted. "We know all about them. We have teams all over the city, retrieving them. Now," the red-head looked around, "let's get a move on."

Connor looked towards his parents. "It's for the best, dad."

After a second his father nodded, his expression bemused. "Very well. I'll need to get some-."

"No time," Vi shook her head. "The others will be waiting."

His father looked towards, eyes pleading for guidance. After a second he nodded. "We better go, then."

* * *

"And what the hell's that supposed to mean?" Angel kept one eye on Gunn as the groaning African-American was loaded onto a stretcher and the other on Harris. 

He was unsurprised when the human returned his glare with interest. The boy had never been bright enough to be scared when the situation demanded it, and surrounded by almost thirty Slayers, Angel supposed he had even less reason to feel frightened. "Your actions today have caused the senior partners to move their timetable for invading this plane of existence by, oh several centuries." Xander glanced towards Gunn. "He ready?"

"Yeah," Faith replied.

"Let's move." Without waiting to see if they followed, Xander and the others hurried away. After a glance and a shrug at Spike they followed, Illyria in tow.

"And you know this how?" he demanded.

"I'd be more interested in how they knew to be here," his grand-childe commented.

"Yeah, but one thing at a time," Angel nodded as they ran, one eye fixed on Gunn. His friend's heartbeat was weak, they didn't have much time. "Well, Xander?"

"You bloodied the Senior Partners' noses today. Yay, team," the youth added sarcastically. "Only problem with that is, they'll have to strike back." The youth spun around and looked behind them. Angel glanced over his shoulder, by now the remains of the demonic army had climbed out of the masonry and were resolutely advancing. "Um, persistent," Xander smiled suddenly before pressing a button on the remote in his right hand. "Bye."

Angel ducked as the Hyperion itself exploded, masonry showering the army, their screams lost in the roaring explosion and rumble of falling stone. "How-."

"Took a three month's refresher course with Riley's unit, explosives, tactics, that sort of thing," Xander explained before starting off on his run again.

Angel and Spike simultaneously rolled their eyes at the mention of 'Captain Cardboard'. "We figured the Senior Partners would attack us, Whelp," Spike commented. "That's why we were here you prat."

"Not you, Billy Idol," Xander shot Spike a contemptuous look. "The world. This dimension. If they don't strike back and hard, the other demonic powers might think they're weak and ripe for the pickings. You boxed them into a corner, forced them to move up The Apocalypse several centuries. Well done."

"Oh crap," Angel muttered before raising his voice. "How did you know we were here?"

"Remember," he turned his head to Faith, the beautiful brunette running effortlessly beside Gunn's stretcher, "a demon, kinda looked a lot like a horny Kermit the frog?"

"Lorne!" Angel gasped.

"Yep," Faith nodded. "Imagine my surprise when I get this phone call off my own Florence Nightingale, telling me how you've taken over Hell Inc. He was wicked scared, wondered what the hell was going on with you, so he kept the Council informed. When we learnt this was going down, G sent us to pull your ass out of the fire."

"He betrayed me!"

"Hey," Faith's glare had enough intensity that Angel had to briefly check he wasn't on fire. "Way Lorne looked at it, you'd betrayed him, signing them all up for W&H without their say-so, he was worried about ya. And if he hadn't informed us, you'd be deader than George Michael's career, right about now." There was a pause, and then the Slayer continued. "In his last call he said he'd done what you asked, about Linds."

"Good," Angel nodded brusquely. In his way Lindsey was more evil, more vile, than Angelus, Spike, or any vampire he'd met. Vampires were solely demons with no control over their actions, he assumed Harmony was the result of mental retardation, while Lindsey was a human who'd actually chosen to work for evil. Unlike Lillah who appeared to have literally no conscience, or Faith who'd realised what she was doing was wrong and had turned from it, Lindsey had turned away from the path on several occasions but the lure of power, easy living, and money had always drawn him back. It was amazing what 30 pieces of silver could do for the lawyer's conscience. With him and the others dead, and with Lindsey's knowledge of Wolfram & Hart, there would have been no-one to stop the lawyer from taking the firm over, and he'd not been ready to allow that.

"You sure ya did the right thing?" Faith queried.

"What's this Poofter?"

Angel grimaced at Spike's query. "I had Lorne shoot Lindsey."

Spike's head spun around to face him. "The hell you say!"

"Killing a treacherous, untrustworthy worm," Illyria nodded. "Very wise."

"You didn't know him the way I did," Angel kept his tone calm in the face of his grand-childe's anger. "Lindsey wouldn't reform, he's rotten to the core. He signed up with Wolfram & Hart knowing they were demonic, anyone who can read legalese would have seen that in their employment contracts. Then I gave him a chance to get out, instead he went for a promotion. Then he left town, he came back and tried to put us two against one another while plotting to take over W&H." Angel shook his head. "He had too much knowledge, too much skill, and was too morally weak to be left alive."

"What about me, Angel?"

Angel winced at the vulnerability in Faith's voice. "You got a chance to reform, you took it. Lindsey was a grown, educated man when he knowingly signed that contract with W&H. You were a scared high school dropout when you went to work for the Mayor. He got chances to leave but kept on coming back, doing more evil. You changed, he never would."

"He's right, honey."

Angel glanced towards Xander, noting the affection in the young man's voice. Faith and Xander? Noting Spike shooting him a knowing glance, he nodded before speaking. "What are we going to do now?"

Xander laughed as he turned a corner. "Get on that."


	2. Chapter 2

**FIC: Heroes Never Just Fade Away (2?)**

Angel stared in disbelief at the monster stood before them, the roar coming from it painful for one with his sensitive hearing. Finally he managed to speak. "A…a plane."

"Gee," Xander smirked. "Faith was right after all. That dumb as a post act is just that, an act." As usual his glare bounced off the youth. "This isn't just a plane, it's the Antonov AN-225, the world's largest transport plane. And with a capacity of over 250 tons it's even big enough to carry Spike's ego."

"Hey dad." Angel's undead heart leapt at his son's voice behind him. Spinning around, he spun around to see Connor stood beside his parents. "That's really big."

"Yeah," Angel stared at his son, uncomfortable at the protective look on the face of the man stood beside his boy. "Glad you're all here and alright." Tearing his eyes away from the teen, he looked towards Xander. "When are we leaving?"

"More to the point," Spike spoke up, "where the hell are we going?"

Xander smiled laconically. "The head of the Council requests your presence."

"Does he now?" Angel spoke up, his tone resonating with bitterness. "Where was he when Fred needed him? He wasn't too interested in us then?"

Eye suddenly hardening, Xander stepped towards him but Faith appeared from nowhere blocking his path. "Cool your jets, hon," the Slayer advised before glancing at him. "Truth was, we weren't sure if ya could be trusted, if it was just a trap to corrupt Red. I went into bat for ya, but G wouldn't listen. I got some wicked heat from Lorne over Fred. But Red couldn't have come anyhow, she was off dimension, going through Dana's consciousness, sorting her out."

Angel exchanged a stunned look with Spike. "She can do that?"

"Took her three weeks," Xander smirked proudly, "and she was wiped out when she got back, but Dana's sane now." The boy scowled. "Unfortunately she's stuck in the mind of a ten year old, like she was before it all went bad."

"And guilty as hell, but I'm helping her with that," Faith smiled wickedly at Spike. "She can't wait to see ya."

"Oh bollocks," muttered his grand-childe suddenly a great deal paler than he'd been just a few seconds ago.

"Hey, Conn!" Faith called out. "Good to see ya again. Ya behave yourself don't wanna have to whup you again." The raven-haired Bostonian winked. "Well unless ya like it like that."

"Connor!" Angel hid a smile at the shock in Connor's mother's voice. "What is that young lady talking about? How do you know her?"

"It's um, complicated," his son stuttered. "Maybe we should get on board."

"She's a lot older than you. I hope you -."

Angel chuckled as Connor hurried towards the plane, his parents following behind, his mother badgering Connor, and his dad shooting disbelieving looks at a waving Faith. "That was evil," he reproved.

Faith winked before bumping him with her hip. "I'm reformed not a saint. And for the record not that much older. Ya wanna get on board?"

After a glance at Gunn, Angel swallowed the bitterness he felt over Fred down deep. He'd lost her, but maybe with the Council's help he could save his other, last remaining, friend. "He needs medical attention, a hospital now."

"This plane isn't exactly standard issue," Xander replied over the roar of the plane's engines. "We've made some adaptations including a six-bed field hospital. The Council these days like these to be prepared for every eventuality."

Angel raised an eyebrow. When would the surprises end? "Let's go."

"What is this sorcery?" demanded Illyria.

"It's a vessel we use to travel from place to place, pet," Spike explained.

"Interesting," mused the blue-haired goddess. "You maggots are indeed ingenious."

"There's a compliment in there somewhere," Angel muttered.

They hurried up into the plane. Angel raised an eyebrow as he saw the set-up. The majority of the plane was taken up with seats for up to a hundred and fifty people set in booths while as he watched Gunn was hurried to the back of the plane where a makeshift hospital waited. In addition there were toilets, a gallery, and what looked to be a complicated array of communications equipment including fax machines and a computer. "This is the dogs bollocks, mate," Spike commented before dropping into a seat and putting his feet up on the table opposite. After a second, Illyria sat down beside his grand-childe, Faith and another Slayer sat opposite.

Shaking his head, Angel looked for an empty seat. And grimaced when he saw where the nearest one was. "Just great."

* * *

"The eye?" 

Xander started at the sound of the vampire beside him. It was hard to hear Angel approaching at the best of times, but when you were consumed with thoughts, it was almost impossible. "What about it?"

His cold tone failed to ward off the vampire, but then he hadn't really expected it to. "I said, what happened to the eye?" Xander closed his remaining eyes the memory of Caleb's thumb boring into it assailing him. "Xander," he started at a hand on his shoulder only to relax when he remembered where exactly he was. "Are you alright?"

He shook his head, clearing it. "I'm fine, just memories," he whispered, his voice growing stronger, he continued. "Last year in Sunnydale, Buffy led us into this vineyard." He shook his head. "A part of me sensed it was a trap, that soldier possession thing I guess, but dumb loyalty made me follow her. Kennedy, Will's girl-friend, was grabbed by this psycho priest that had just kicked Buff, Faith, and Billy's collective asses."

"Caleb."

"Yeah," Xander blinked, surprised that the demon knew the priest's name. "Caleb. So me, the guy who was dropped on his head at birth, dived in and pushed Kennedy away. He grabbed me, pronounced 'I was the one who sees' and poked my eye out."

"Must have hurt," Angel commented. Too caught up in the memory to speak, Xander nodded. If anything hurt was a massive understatement. "But I'm guessing you don't regret it, because you saved someone's life. All of us have scars, Xander, what's important is how you got it. It's a wound to be proud of."

Xander glanced at the vampire. "I.. I hadn't thought of it like that."

"You should," Angel suggested. There was a moment of silence, then the demon spoke again. "I thought Faith was dating," there was a pause as the Irish vampire struggled for a name, "Wood."

Xander groaned inwardly. Here came the interrogation. "She was, but it didn't work out, he's too uptight, too school-masterly, think a black Giles without the edge."

"Ah," the vampire nodded in understanding. "And you and her?"

Direct, much? "You heard about me and Anya?"

Angel's eyes flickered with wry amusement. "Yes, and jilting the Vengeance demon for scorned women was probably your dumbest move ever. And given your history that's quite an achievement."

"I know," Xander conceded with a wry grin before sobering. "After she died in the last battle against the First, I fell apart. I worked hard, ran the Cleveland branch of the Council-."

"I thought you were in Africa?"

"Andrew?" Angel nodded. "Yeah," Xander continued, "Giles tells Andrew what we want the world to think. Giles knows he can't keep his mouth shut. When he came over to retrieve Dana, he wasn't in charge, two of the Slayers there had secret authority from Giles to take over if he screwed up. Anyway," Xander paused, "I fell apart after Anya's death, couldn't connect with people, the Slayers weren't people to me, I couldn't afford to get close any more, I was sorta operating on auto-pilot."

"I can relate," Angel commented.

Xander nodded. "Then eight months ago, Faith turned up. Giles had heard what was happening with me, couldn't come himself, and neither could Will, but Faith had just broken up with Wood, and needed time away from him. So she asked to be sent to help. She put me back together again, said she wouldn't let me shove her out, she'd made that mistake when I'd tried to help her after Finch. She took over running the branch, looking after me, everything. And somewhere along the line, we fell for one another. I found out despite the whole her being a goddess thing, and me just being a goof, we've got a lot in common, we click."

Angel stared at him. "I don't need to give you the speech do I?"

Xander shuddered. "Oh god, no. It always sounds so -."

"Forced?" Angel finished.

"Exactly."

* * *

"Droopy leads the Council's US. Branch?" Spike laughed. "You sods are royally buggered and no mistake. God, if I knew-." Suddenly he was airborne, crashing into the bunker head and sliding down to the ground. "What the bloody hell," he growled as he climbed to his feet. 

The moment he was upright, Faith was there, one hand grabbing him around his collar, slamming him back into the bunkhead, the other levelling a stake at his heart.

"For the record, X ain't droopy," the Slayer glared at him, eyes like ice. "Never has been. And I hear you disrespecting the man I love again, I'll stake your miserable ass just for the practice. We on the same page?"

"We're on the same page," he confirmed, his eyes wary.

"Good," Faith released her grip and stepped back, but not out of his path. "For the record, I'm not some gullible valley girl who gets wet at the sight of a set of abs. You ever try anything with me, my girls, or hurt a single person I care about, and I'll have a hundred Slayers who've never screwed ya hunting ya miserable ass down." The Slayer turned away and headed back to her seat.

After a second, he followed suit. "Where the bloody hell were you?" he muttered as he sat down back beside Illyria.

The goddess smiled at him. "The Slayer has power, it is always good to assess a potential adversary. And it is good a warrior stands up for their mate, shows strength. It is the sort of thing Wesley would have done for the shell."

"Well thanks for the bloody help!" Spike spat.

* * *

A Hell Dimension 

Lucifer entered the boardroom, instantly his minions rose. They were all there, the leaders of his Bleak Legions, Dracos Dulli, the Dread-Lord, Karla, the Cruel Conquerer, Archduke Averill, Battle-Champion of five dimensions, Caedron the Crafty, Gedeon the Destroyer of Worlds, and Kolya, Tormenter of Empires. Lucifer nodded, his leaders immediately sat. "I'll keep this short, the Circle of Black Thorn has been destroyed." He stopped the shocked babble that followed his words with a glare. "Such an insult cannot be allowed to stand. Ready our forces."


	3. Chapter 3

**FIC: Heroes Never Just Fade Away (3?)**

The moment the plane touched tarmac, Angel was up and moving towards the medical station. Xander rose and followed the Irish vampire, exchanging a look with his girl-friend as he passed her. A second later and she was striding beside him. "What was that with Spike?" he queried. "Not that I'm complaining, any time you want to throw Billy into a wall feel free."

The beautiful Bostonian shrugged. "He insulted my man, had to put him straight, teach him some respect for his betters."

"Insulted your man hey?" Xander grinned. "And you stood up for my honour. I'll have to reward you tonight."

Faith winked. "Count on it, stud. I've got a few ideas what ya can do."

"Please stop," Angel shot them a pained glance. "I'm not entirely sure if a vampire can throw up, but if you two don't shut up, we're all going to find out."

Xander raised an eyebrow. "What do you want me to do exactly, Faith?"

Faith's rosebud lips parted in a mocking smirk. "I like it when you kneel down before me, pull my panties down, kiss your way up my -," Faith's words turned to strangled laughter at Angel's shudder. "Choice!"

The mood took a downturn as they reached the medical station. "How is he, doctor?"

The doctor paled at Angel's harsh tone before replying. "He's stabilised at the moment, but unless we get him to The Council in the next three hours, he'll die."

"The Council?" Angel queried. "He needs a hosp-."

"Think W&H's medical facilities without the demonic influence," Xander soothed. Looking around, he noticed the others were already departing the plane. "Faith," he turned to his girl-friend, "you go with our guests-."

"I want to go with Gunn,"

Xander glanced at the vampire. Seeing the Irish demon's stubborn expression and not having the heart to argue, he nodded. "Okay," looking around, he saw two Slayers, "Vi! Rona! I need you!" he turned to Angel. "They're going with you, no argument. Faith, we'll take the others, and ten Slayers as guards." They still didn't know just how strong Illyria was, and there was no way Xander was taking any chances. "I'll just be a minute, I'll phone G-Man and tell him we're on the way."

* * *

"Rupert," Giles looked up to see Wesley's father stood in the doorway of his office, a grave look on his face, "young Xander is on the line." 

Giles nodded at his second-in-command's announcement. "Thank you, Roger." The man nodded before walking out. Giles shook his head as he reached for the phone. Him, the head of the Council, he chuckled to himself, he somehow doubted when his father had dragged him into the Council halls some three decades ago he'd expected his blasted brat of a son to be running the damn place!

Although maybe he had, his father had always thought rather more of him than he had himself. He supposed it was the same with all good parents.

Of course, his own children continually surprised him with their resourcefulness and sheer heart, so perhaps not. Putting aside the vagaries of fatherhood, he grabbed the phone and answered it. "Xander?"

"Hi," the founding Scooby replied, "we've just got everyone off the plane at the RAF airport, thanks for the clearance by the way. We should be with you in an hour."

"Excellent," he paused for a second, "how did Angel," his lips curled up into an instinctive sneer, "take the news of our mole in his camp?"

Xander chuckled. "Had a temper tantrum."

"Ah, to be expected," Giles smirked. "You managed to retrieve young Connor and his family too?"

"Yeah, but," Xander paused, "Wes died taking out Viall."

"Oh bugger," Giles breathed. It had been his intention to offer Pryce a position as the head of one of the Council's satellite stations, perhaps Cairo as Zabuto was approaching retirement age and had only stayed on the condition that a replacement be found as soon as possible. A potentially valuable resource lost.

The man in him rebelled at his clinical reaction to the death of a man he had known, but the general in him couldn't afford such emotion. Taking a breath, he continued. "But the others?"

"Deadboy, Billy, and Illyria are all uninjured, the guy they call Gunn is in a bad way, but he'll be okay."

"Excellent, you did well Xander."

"Thanks."

"Roger," he sighed as he hung up. He'd forgotten about Wesley's father, the relationship between son and father was strained at best, but he deserved to know. "And it looks like I'll be the one telling him," he muttered.

He'd been surprised by just how close he'd grown to Roger since his return to England. The older Englishman had been the most senior remaining Council member, the only member of The Ruling Board to survive in fact, and as such Giles had expected to fight him tooth and nail for the Council. But instead the man had stepped aside and even supported his own claim for the Council leadership.

While Whyndham-Pryce was undoubtedly a cold fish, unlike Travers the man wasn't concerned with furthering his own schemes but rather the protection of mankind. Unlike the former Council head, he wasn't obsessed with his own power base, he truly believed in the Council's aims, and while they argued frequently in private about the changes Giles planned, Roger always loyally, supported him in public.

And what changes he'd had to make. First he'd had Willow hack through a dozen electronic safeguards to get to the Council accounts to get to the money that Travers had squirreled away in banks in the Bahamas, Switzerland, and Liechtenstein. Once he'd gotten the money, the easy part was over.

He'd set half the remaining Watchers, the older ones, to recruiting and training newer Watchers, ignoring their complaints about him discarding the old traditions of only allowing upper-class, college-educated Watchers. The younger half of the Watchers he'd set to work tracking down the Slayers, aided by Willow's connection. Still, tracking over 600 Slayers down had taken some time, he'd been fortunate that Willow's spell somehow compelled many of them to seek the Council out.

And once the Slayers had been located, the difficult work had really begun. First order of business had been the banishing of the Cruicatmen, a test of the worthiness of the Slayer, Giles snorted in disgust, they'd been chosen by the powers that be how much more worthy could they be? Disapproval of that move had been muted, but the uproar when he'd declared his attention to pay Slayers a salary on par with field watchers. He chuckled as he remembered the outrage.

His amusement quickly faded. "Slavery is no joke," he shook his head. That was the old system had been, little more than slavery.

But he intended to change that. Now the Slayers were assigned to one of six regional field offices throughout the world, within which each of the world's major cities got a team of three Slayers, one Watcher, and a healermage. In addition, the Council had a dozen special ops teams, properly equipped and trained teams chosen from the world's special operations units, not the misfits the previous regime had employed, ready to fly in and back-up a Slayer team at a moment's notice. A number of alliances had also been struck with the world's most powerful white magic covens and friendly demon clans, as well as diplomatic ties strengthened with many of the world's governments. Now the Council was working for the Slayers, and not the other way around.

Even saving the world hadn't been as hard as reforming the council and although he felt a great deal of pride at his achievements, he sometimes felt utterly and completely tired. Opening the door, he stepped out. "Mr. Giles!"

He smiled at the pretty young woman waiting outside his office. "Hello, Dana." Since her return to lucidity, the previously insane Slayer had for some reason latched onto him, serving as his bodyguard with an unflinching loyalty. He'd been loath to discourage her attention for fear that rejection might send her spiralling out of control once again, but at times it could be wearying. "I'm just off to see Mr. Whyndham-Pryce."

The girl dropped in beside him with a nod. "Is Faith coming back soon?"

"She'll be in an hour or so," Giles smiled at the young woman's pleased expression. Dana idolised both him and Willow, but while their idolisation was marred by the generation gap in their case and considerable awe in the case of Willow, Faith had connected with Dana on a level none of the rest of them had managed. The only problem, he chuckled inwardly as the girl began to skip, was how giddy Dana got whenever Faith visited.

Finally they stopped outside Roger's office. "Thank you, Dana," he pursed his lips, noting the girl's paleness. Oh bloody hell, not again, they'd talked about this before. "Have you eaten today?" The young Slayer shrugged. "Dana?"

"Gotta look after you for Faith and Miss. Rosenberg," the girl muttered.

Giles rolled his eyes. He was in a building filled with something like thirty Slayers, and base to over a hundred Special ops troops; he suspected he was reasonably safe. "I appreciate your loyalty," he carefully replied, not wanting to hurt the young girl's feelings. "But I am more than capable of looking after myself, and Mr. Whyndham-Pryce is hardly going to attack me."

"He's a good man, gives me money to run errands for him."

Giles raised an eyebrow, he hadn't known that. An unexpected, softer side to the older man. "And if Faith comes home and finds you not looking your best, I'll be in for the high jump, and neither of us want that, now do we?"

Dana shook her head. "No, Mr. Giles."

"Good," he smiled at the girl's reply. "Now," the girl's eyes widened when he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled fiver, "that's settled. You go and feast on some of those sugary treats you like so much."

The previously insane Slayer stared at the note he'd shoved into her hand. "I've got my own money."

"I know dear," the Watcher nodded, "call it a bonus for a job well done."

"Thanks Mr. Giles!"

The girl stepped towards him to hug him, but he quickly stepped back. "No, Dana," he tousled the girl's hair, "cracked ribs last time remember?"

The girl looked briefly disappointed, then smiled and lunged towards him, placing a kiss on his cheek before charging off. Giles shook his head and chuckled. "That bloody girl," he muttered. He knew he spoiled her unmercifully, but in doing so, he somehow assuaged his guilt about what had happened to another very troubled girl who'd been under his care. He'd failed Faith, but he wouldn't fail Dana. And now, he turned towards the whitewashed door with a sigh, for Roger Whyndham-Pryce. Taking a breath, he knocked on the door. "Roger, it's me."

"Rupert?" the older man sounded surprised. "Please, come in."

"Thank you," opening the door he walked into the older Watcher's lavishly furnished office, complete with the man's perhaps priceless collection of two bookcases of first editions.

Giles quickly appraised the short but powerfully built man sat behind the desk. Despite the man's age and immaculate Saville Road suit, there was something of the pit-bull about him, an amazing energy for a man of his years. He selfishly hoped his news wouldn't destroy that vigour. He needed the man too much for that. "Our guests will be here within the hour," he licked his lips, "unfortunately there's bad news. Wesley died taking out Cyrus Viall."

"Ah," the recently bereaved father stared into space for a second. "Viall, a most powerful sorcerer. Most commendable." The bearded man glanced down at his cluttered desk. "I should have your reports ready for you in about thirty minutes, good enough?" Giles nodded dazedly, unable to believe the man's reaction. The man glanced up at him. "My boy's," the man paused, the slightest flicker of emotion in his eyes and a little hoarseness in his voice, "Slayer will be here with the others, correct?"

"That's right," Giles confirmed, bemused as to where this bewildering conversation was heading.

"Could you send her to me?" Roger queried.

Giles stared at the older man, confused by the request but unwilling to deny him. "As you wish."

"Thank you," his fellow Englishman's smile was strained. "Now, these reports aren't going to finish themselves?"

* * *

Whyndham-Pryce stared down at the reports spread across his desk, accounts of the major demonic clans suddenly unimportant next to what he'd just learnt. His son, dead. 

He and Wesley had never been close. In fact, if anything that had been the understatement. But he had loved his son, his mistake had been in the way he'd loved him. He'd thought by being hard on the boy, relentlessly pushing him, he'd become the best he could be, a son to be proud of. But Wesley had been a terrible disappointment to him.

And then, years later, he'd seen how Rupert was with the quite remarkable youngsters he'd unofficially adopted, encouraging, patient, and above all loving. Realisation of the mistake he'd made had hit him like a train, but typical of him he'd been able to apologise to his son. But with his return, he'd planned to, he really had.

Suddenly stiff-upper lip seemed the stupidest expression in the world.

* * *

Faith shook her head as she climbed out of the van that had carried her and her companions to the Council grounds, an 18th century six storey mansion with over 80 rooms, several out-buildings, and over 100 acres of land, all for a cool forty million pounds. The place was fucking A. 

"Faith!" Faith was rocked when a lithe figure crashed into her, squeezing her tight. "I missed you!"

"Right back at you, kid," Faith ruffled the troubled Slayer's hair. "Ya been good for Mr. Giles?" Dana nodded.

"Hi, Dana," Xander greeted as he climbed out of their convoy's lead vehicle. "You feeling well?"

Dana looked away, and towards Faith's boyfriend. "Yes, thank you, Mr. Harris," Dana replied shyly, a slight blush on her cheeks.

Faith hid a scowl. She'd been kidding her honey that Dana had a crush, and that blush just about confirmed it. It would be funny if it wasn't so tragic, the grown woman stuck in a ten year old's mind, dealing with emotions and feelings she couldn't even come close to understanding. Life fucking sucked some times, although like her, Dana was probably better off now than she would have been if she'd never been Called in the first place. Dana glanced around, eyes hardening. "Spike."

"Yeah," Faith stepped away from her friend. "Haven't you got something to say to him?"

"How do you pick your nose without hands?" Dana asked.

"You, you, you," the demon glared at her, threw his hands up, and stormed towards the building. Faith dissolved into floods of tears of laughter. Call her man 'droopy'? No one dissed her X and got away with it.

"That went well didn't it?" Dana beamed.

Faith tousled her friend's hair. "You rocked."

"I suppose you think that was funny?" Faith groaned, busted. She turned to face a disapproving Giles, her mouth opening to explain it had been her idea, and that Dana had only followed her. "I found it rather amusing myself," Faith stared at the Council Head's smirk. The man sobered. "Mr. Whyndham-Pryce would like to see you."

"See me," Faith stared at the head Watcher, "but why?"

"I have no idea, but he has just lost his son, try not to be so," Giles raised an eyebrow,

"Faithlike?"

"Sur-, hey!"

* * *

Roger Whyndham-Pryce looked up at the knock on the door. "Who is it?" 

"Uh, Faith."

"Ah," Roger swallowed. Although the young woman in question had occasionally come here, their paths had never actually passed, he'd always been away on business when she'd visited. Truth be told, he always made sure he was away when he knew she was coming. He was sure the two of them meeting would be more than a little uncomfortable for both of them. But now it was unavoidable. "Please, come in."

"Thanks." The door swung open. He raised an eyebrow at the beautiful young woman who entered. Raven locks cascaded down her shoulders, her chocolate brown eyes were smoky, inviting, and rosebud lips begged to be kissed. The young woman was clad in skin-tight leather pants that creaked with every movement and a red gym shirt underneath a denim jacket that did little to hide her perfectly proportioned curves. The Slayer stalked over to the other side of his desk with a grace which was unusual even for one of her Calling and looked at the chair. "Can I?"

"Of course," he motioned to the seat.

"Thanks."

A strained moment followed the Slayer sitting down. Roger stared at the young beauty before shaking his head. "No wonder my son was intimidated by you."

The girl's eyes briefly filled with pain but when she spoke, her tone was nonchalance personified. "You get that when you torture someone half to death."

"No, no, no," he shook his head. "You misunderstand me. My son had a sheltered upbringing. Boy's schools and all that. While he was thirty when he came to Sunnydale, he had little experience of the fairer sex, finding a gorgeous young woman such as yourself as his charge must have been terrifying."

The young lady's full lips quirked up in a half-smile. "You making a pass at me, Rog? Only you're a little too…"

"Old?" he suggested, the tightness in his chest he'd been experiencing since Giles had given him the terrible news loosening a tad at the woman's easy manner. Yes, very personable, far more dangerous than he'd imagined

The Slayer tilted her head to one side. "I was gonna say British."

"Ah yes," he nodded in understanding, "I've frequently had that effect on women, even British ones."

"I just bet," Faith's half-grin disappeared. "Sorry about Wes, he was a good guy."

"Thank you, dear," Roger nodded. "He thought a lot about and of you." The Slayer's mouth momentarily dropped. "He frequently wrote me letters about his career in LA., and often made mention of you. He was wracked with guilt about what happened with you." He paused before making an admission of guilt. "As am I."

"I don't understand?"

He sighed. "I made many mistakes bringing up my son, I believed true strength came in strictness and discipline, not understanding and compassion. The way my son attempted to mentor you in Sunnydale was based on the only example he had, mine. I was a terrible parent-."

"You ever kick him down the stairs 'cause the guy at the shop knew he was underage and wouldn't let him buy your booze? 'Cause if you didn't, he was way up on me."

Roger's jaw tightened at the young woman's casual, matter-of-fact description of the abuse she'd suffered. "No, but perhaps if I'd have been a better father, he could have been a better Watcher."

The beautiful young woman stared at him for a long second. "Yeah well," the Bostonian shrugged, her expression uncomfortable. "I guess maybe if I hadn't gone through all the bad stuff I wouldn't have broken down, and come through it with a better perspective. I was self-destructing one way or another how ever things went. And we reached an understanding before he…." Again the Slayer's voice trailed off.

"I know, dear," Roger smiled, "his later letters mentioned it, it was a great source of comfort to him."

"It was?" the formerly rogue Slayer looked briefly surprised. "If I could have any man to be my Watcher, Wes would be my second choice after my Xan. Cat could handle himself."

"Thank you, dear. That means a great deal." Roger smiled before turning serious. "Now, although you and my son reached amends, my son and I failed to. And now, with him dead, I never will," seeing the girl's mouth open, he waved her to silence, "hush girl. Which aside from the emotional baggage such a loss entails, leaves me with a problem. My wife and I aren't young, both of us, well we won't seeing seventy again."

"I'm bettin' Mrs. W won't thank you for spreading that fact around."

Roger chuckled at the girl's wry reply. "Indeed not. Most indiscreet of me. We'll have to keep it our little secret." His smile slipped. "Wesley, well Wesley was our only child, and as a consequence I have no one left to leave the family fortune to upon my death. I'd be most appreciative if you'd allow me you to will everything to you as a sort of apology -."

"You've gotta be shi-," the young woman coughed, "kiddin' me!"

"Not at all, my sense of humour was removed at a young age," Roger continued. "Ask anybody. Much of what you went through was at least indirectly due to my terrible parenting. I can't ever apologise to Wesley now for the damage I caused him, but I can at least in some small way make amends to you."

"I…I," the girl shook her head. "I've got everything I need, my guy, a home, a purpose. Thanks, I appreciate the offer, but me and Wes are square, I don't need-."

"Please," he pleaded. "I do."

"K," the girl shrugged, her expression uncomfortable. "I'll do ya a deal, half for me, half for Dana," the Slayer paused, "ya know her, right?"

"Indeed I do," Roger smiled, "she's a sweet child."

"Yeah, Dana's great," the brunette looked down at the ground for a second before raising her eyes. "Me and her are a lot alike, neither of us got a great start, she needs looking after, if you could put half your money in a trust fund for her or something."

"A splendid idea," he nodded approvingly at the young woman's generosity. "I'll get onto my lawyers and accountants on Monday, liquidate some of my assets, sell some properties, and set the trust fund up immediately. What's left over when my wife and I pass on will be yours, agreed?"

"Yeah, thanks." The bemused-looking woman rose. "We gonna go to this meeting?"

"I'd be honoured if you'd give me the pleasure of escorting you."

"Ya think people will talk?" Faith grinned.

Roger smiled at the young woman. "Oh, I do so."

"You're just lucky I ain't got no honour, otherwise X would fight you for it."

"From what I've seen and my son wrote you have plenty of that quality." His gallantry was rewarded with a slight reddening of the young woman's cheeks

* * *

"Giles." 

He looked up to see the vampire standing in his office doorway. Instantly his hackles rose at the sight of Jenny's murderer. "Angel," he greeted before turning to Dana sat opposite him. He was surprised that the previously laughing girl who'd been excitedly telling him about Faith's return was now sat glaring at the demon. "Could you leave please, Dana. Angel and I-."

"I'm not going," the Slayer declared, eyes boring through the vampire. "He doesn't like you. I don't trust him."

"Very well," he raised an eyebrow. He could order Dana to leave, but that would only hurt the young woman's feelings, and giving the choice between causing her discomfort and Angel, he'd chose Angel's anguish every time. "It appears we'll be having company, Angel."

The demon's eyes flickered towards Dana but showed no other sign of distress. "Dana, you're looking well." The vampire's gaze returned to him. "Thank you for your help today, but a little earlier would have been nice."

"I didn't help you, I took an opportunity to assist in the elimination of a number of powerful demons, and retrieve a number of potential allies," Giles corrected. "Please note, potential."

Angel's eyes narrowed. "I didn't appreciate the way you came in and stole Dana," the vampire glanced at the Slayer, "from us."

"I wasn't about to leave an innocent in the hands of your organisation to be corrupted," Giles replied. "The Council looks after its own."

"It's not always been that way with the Council," Angel responded.

"It is now," Giles replied, eyes not shifting from the demon.

"Why didn't you send Willow when I phoned for her!"

"Dana was our priority, not some girl I'd never met," Giles retorted. "And we were far from certain it wasn't a trap, a plan to ensnare Willow. I might have been wrong, but," he smiled at Dana, "I don't regret the choice I made."

"How could you use my friend to spy on me!" the vampire started forward only to blocked off by a scowling Dana, the Slayer moving at a blur to confront the demon.

"Perhaps," Giles continued, "we should continue this at the conference." Angel stared with confusion at him. "After all, I'm sure you're eager to hear just what result your actions have had."

"Oh yeah," muttered the demon, "can't wait."


	4. Chapter 4

**FIC: Heroes Never Just Fade Away (4?)**

"Sorry I'm late."

Giles looked up as the late arrival hurried into the vast briefing room. "Ah, Riley!"

"Captain Cardboard, bloody marvellous."

Giles groaned at the malicious looks between Riley and the two ensoulled vampires. "Riley has been seconded from the US. Government to head our Special Forces unit."

"We're all doomed," Angel commented.

Shaking his head, Giles turned his attention to the monitor before him. "Willow?" Giles spoke into his computer's microphone. "Is everything set up at your end?"

"Coming on line, now." He smiled as the face of the red-haired Wicca appeared on her computer screen. "Rio here, boss!"

"Oh please," he heard Faith's amused mutter, "brown-noser."

"Watch it you," Willow warned, "or I'll turn you into something really mean!"

Faith snorted. "I'm wicked sure it won't be a frog."

"Please, girls," he interrupted, "let's pretend this isn't a sorority."

"Sororities aren't any fun, now fraternities on the other hand," Faith leered.

"What does she mean Mr. Giles?"

Cheeks burning, Giles chose to ignore both Faith's comment and Dana's query in favour of continuing with the meeting. "Brisbane?"

Robson's face flickered onto one of the flat-screen monitors set in the middle of the long conference room table. "Here, Mr. Giles."

Giles nodded. "Cairo?"

"Here," Zabuto and a lantern-jawed man appeared on another screen.

"Groo! But how!"

"Greetings, Angel," Groo nodded. "I have been working with the Council for a while now, slewing demons and training Slayers. It is indeed a worthy calling."

"Okay," Angel shrugged. "I just give up."

"Munich?"

"Here," Wood's face flickered on-line. "Faith. Spike."

"Right there, wanker," replied Spike.

Giles sighed. His life was like a soddin' soap opera, he silently bemoaned. "Including Xander Harris," he nodded to the young man he considered his son, "all the Council heads are here, as is the Senior Slayer, Faith Le-."

"Senior Slayer," Spike snorted. "This is bollocks. Where is Buffy?"

Giles groaned. Xander hadn't told them? The blithering pillock.

* * *

London, 5 months ago. 

"Giles!"

Giles looked up with a smile at the familiar voice. It had been so long. Standing, he walked over to the young woman stood there and took her in his arms, hugging her tightly. "Buffy!" Pulling away, he looked at the tall, elegantly-dressed man with her. "And who might you be?"

"Oh Giles," Buffy beamed, "this is my boyfriend from Rome, Dante Viva."

Dante Viva, Giles' heart tightened as he recognised the name. "Not again," he breathed, staring with disbelief at the Slayer. Would she ever learn? Shaking his head, he stuttered. "This man, don't you know-."

"I know," Buffy's eyes had hardened, "he's the man I want as my Watcher."

"Impossible," Giles shook his head. "This man is one of the most notorious scoundrels of the past six centuries!"

"But Mr. Giles, I am reformed," the black arts mage's smirk didn't reach into his eyes.

"No," he shook his head. "Absolutely not."

Buffy pouted. "Either you let him become my Watcher or I resign from the Council!"

"Threatening me is distinctly unwise," Giles warned. "I've more to think about than just you. Did you learn nothing from Angelus and Spike?" he shook his head. "Don't bother with a letter, I'll consider this meeting your resignation." Buffy gaped at him. "Girls!" he shouted into the corridor. In a moment, four Slayers were in the corridor. "Please escort Miss. Summers and her companion," he shot the Immortal a disdainful look, "from the building."

"Giles-," Buffy pleaded.

He hoped his expression gave no hint of his inner turmoil. "I have an entire Council of impressionable Slayers to think about. If you won't learn from past mistakes and continue to persist in these unwise liaisons, then I'm sorry, I'd rather you weren't involved in the Council."

* * *

"You bloody ninny!" 

"Watch yourself Billy," Faith's voice was low, controlled, "there's ten of my best girls in this room, and over a hundred Slayers in this building. Give me a reason, I'm begging ya."

"Giles, don't you think-."

"What Angel?" He shot the demon a glare. "That I should have indulged her liaison the way I did with both you and Spike? Look how well those relationships ended. We're not here to discuss Buffy, she's made her decisions, she'll have to live with them." He forced himself to concentrate on the notes before him. "With the decimation of the Senior Partners, Lucifer's forces has been dealt a mighty blow."

"So what's the problem with that?" Angel queried, his tone defensive.

"The problem is that although the Circle Of the Black Thorn is the no. 1. group working for Lucifer, they are far from the only one," Giles replied. "In fact there are over three dozen powerful demonic groups working either directly or indirectly for him. With his major group out of the way, he'll have to set them to work immediately to bring about the apocalypse, otherwise one of his enemies will beat him to it."

"Why does he not just march straight in?"

That question came from Connor, but before he had chance to answer it, Illyria beat him to it. "The plane of man is not made for the truly powerful, this place," the goddess sniffed, "is full of weakness, compassion, and the like."

"Quite," Giles thought it diplomatic to agree with the resurrected Old One, "demons with the power of a Lucifer cannot exist in this dimension in his purest form, there's too much goodness here. So he needs his remaining groups to spread enough hatred etc to change that."

"And how would they do that, 'xactly?" Spike queried.

"By sowing dissension and smiting down those who would oppose them!"

Giles blinked at Illyria's exclamation. "Something like that. Killing men of peace, staring wars, engineering the election of hate-mongers and radicals, and supplying arms to extremists, that sort of thing added to the usual demonic behaviour. Once this plane of existence is even more corrupt than it is now, he'll be able to make his move, there were will be nothing holding his Bleak Legions back."

"How do we stop them, G?"

Giles smiled at Faith's unusually earnest face. "Over the years, the Council has made extensive notes of the world's most prominent occult groups." He glanced at the flat-screen monitors. "You've all been emailed the reports, use Crimson encryption key to decrypt them-."

"Told you-."

"Yes thank you, Willow," he interrupted testily, "the system has been a great help."

"And didn't it just kill you to say so," the Wicca muttered.

He ignored the witch. "These groups are all working towards setting off the final apocalypse."

"Why not wipe 'em out before?"

"There's several reasons," he glanced at Spike before continuing. "First of all, with only one Slayer the Council never had the resources to hunt these groups down. Secondly, it was decided under my leadership that it was better to thwart these groups' schemes rather than eliminate them completely, for fear that their deaths would leave a power vacuum into which something more powerful could move. Unfortunately," he glared at Angel, "your actions have eliminated that option. Now, we're going to attack each and every of the group on this list, eliminate and destroy them, and hope whatever comes after them takes decades to gain enough power to be a threat."

"That's your bloody plan?"

"Shut up Spike."

He nodded at Faith, thanking her for her softly delivered warning. "Illyria," the demon looked up, "I would be honoured," he was careful to keep his wording respectful, "if you'd consent to stay with us. I feel you have much to teach us about the world of demons. And your fellow comrade-at-arms, the one you call Gunn would do to have a familiar face around as he recovers."

"You speak to a goddess as one should, I will stay," Illyria nodded.

"Thank you," he nodded. "Angel, you'll be leaving with Faith and Xander to go back to America. Connor, I understand you've spoken to your parents and against their objections wish to be involved?"

"It's my world, too."

"Yes," he smiled. "Indeed it is. You'll be shipping out with Vi and Rona. Spike," his lip curled up as he turned to the second soulled vampire, "you'll be shipping out to meet with Willow and Kennedy."

* * *

"Xander!" he turned to face the vampire hurrying behind. "You've got to talk sense to Giles about Buffy." 

"For the first time one of us is talking sense about Buffy." Xander shook his head to forestall the vampire's interruption. "Yes, she's brave, determined, and a great fighter. But she's also incredibly selfish and bull-headed. The Immortal is one of the world's worst dark mages, you were the world's most notorious mass-murderer, and Spike had killed two of her fellow Slayers. But none of that mattered to Buffy, she knew what she wanted and went out there to get it. And what happened? Giles lost the woman he loved, Kendra," the vampire winced, "lost her life, and the world almost ended. And it was even worse with Spike. God knows what will happen with the Immortal-."

"But that's my point!" the demon finally interrupted. "She needs our help!"

"Giles has a whole Council of Slayers, over 600 of them in total. Some from broken homes, some with emotional problems. Plenty of them haven't had half the start in life Buffy had. He can't afford to spend his time on one girl who doesn't learn her lessons or want our help. Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it. Some guy famous said that."

"George Santayana," he supplied.

"Whatever," Xander shook his head. "Buffy's not like Faith or Will, she doesn't learn from her mistakes, she keeps repeating them again and again. And there's got to be a point where we say no more. There's more people to consider than just her"

"And what about Dawn, don't you care about her?"

"We have people watching her," Xander controlled his temper with an effort. "If there's any danger to Dawn, she'll be lifted. She's still under our protection, and all Buffy has to so is ask and we'll be there for her too. But there's no point when she's still on her bad boy kick. It's like having a drug addict in the family, at some point you've got to think of the rest of the family, you can't sacrifice them to protect someone who doesn't want your help."

"But-."

"You're not listening Deadboy," Xander hissed, the vampire was on his last nerve. "I agree with Giles, I'm not interested."

* * *

"Mr. Pryce!" 

The formidable looking gentleman stopped and turned, his eyes cold. "Angelus-."

He offered the man his hand, the Watcher failed to take it. "I prefer Angel." Angel guessed this wasn't going to be easy. "I'd just like to say your son was a fine man, a great asset to my group."

"Hum," the man huffed. "And would that include when you tried to kill him?"

Angel shrugged. "Things were," he licked his lips in embarrassment, "tense."

"Of course they were, he'd just tried to save your son from a raving, homicidal mania-," the man chuckled. "Oh wait, that would be you, correct?" Shaking his head, the man walked away.

"Three in a row, that's three conversations that have gone down the toilet. Is it my cologne?" he sniffed his sleeve but his vampire nose couldn't pick up anything. "Someone would tell me, right?"

* * *

"I've gotta help you!" 

"Hey, hey, hey, champ," Giles was surprised by the compassion in the formerly rouge Slayer's face as she cupped Dana's face in her hands. "You do help, ya look after the big cheese for us, right?"

"The big cheese?"

Giles rolled his eyes at Dana's confusion. He'd frequently said the Bostonian Slayer should come with a Faith-English translator; it was only fair for the actual members of the human race unfortunate enough to have her foisted upon them. "Faith means me, Dana."

"Yeah, that's right," Faith stroked Dana's hair. "After all if that Illyria chick's gonna be here and the bad guys might come after G, me and Red have gotta have someone we trust looking after the old geezer."

Giles raised an eyebrow at being described in such a manner. "Thank you very bloody much," he muttered.

Despite his reservations, Giles was pleased to see Dana nodding reluctantly. "Okay," she muttered.

"Good girl," Giles praised. "Now if you'd don't mind, I'd like to speak to Faith alone."

"Okay," Dana nodded. "I'll go and see if uncle Roger's got any jobs for me to do." With that, the child in a young woman's body hurried out, leaving them both gaping.

"Did she just call Rog, uncle Roger?"

"I believe she did," he replied dazedly. Shaking his head, he turned to his senior Slayer. "You're very good with her."

Faith shrugged, obviously discomforted by his praise. "She's a good kid, got a good heart. I just know what she needs to hear."

"I think it's rather more than that," Giles reproved. "She adores you, the day after she rings her I hear every word of the conversation verbatim. At least twice."

Faith smirked. "Well what about you? Every second thing she has to tell me about is about the 'wonderful' Mr. Giles, you sound like freakin' Mary Poppins."

Giles chuckled. "I'm rather surprised that a Boston southie knows who Mary Poppins is."

"What can I say," Faith winked. "I have a dark past."

"That I can believe," Giles replied. "And how are you and Xander?"

"Cleveland's running fine," Faith grinned. "And that's all you're getting. I do either mysterious or graphic. I'm playing mysterious today."

"Thank goodness for that," Giles shuddered theatrically before turning serious. "And if I may be indiscreet how did your meeting with Uncle Roger go?"

"He tells me to call him that, and I'm back snapping necks," Faith replied. "It was weird, I figured it was gonna be all because of you my son is dead and I was disgraced. But it wasn't." Faith looked down at the floor.

"Faith, if you're not comfortable-."

"No," the Slayer shook her head, her expression serious, "it's five by five. I need to talk this through with someone who knows Rog." The Slayer paused. "I was wicked scared going in there, I didn't wanna get into a shouting match or nothing with him, Jesus his boy's just died, but I wasn't going to take shit from him. Instead, he apologised, said his son was a lousy Watcher to me 'cause he'd never learnt compassion and stuff from him, that he'd acted like a dictator because that was the way Rog had been with him."

"He said that?"

"Yeah," Faith nodded. "I tried to tell him I was a basket-case long before Wes came along but he wasn't having it. He said he'd planned to apologise to his son when he got back, but that was never gonna happen now, so he apologised to me instead. Then," the Slayer looked bemused, "he said that he didn't have any kids left to leave his fortune to, so he asked if it would be alright to leave it all to me."

"He did what!" Giles exclaimed.

"I said no way, that I was happy with what I'd got, X, my job, my home, but he insisted, so I did a deal where I split the money half and half with Dana. He's gonna set up a trust fund for her tomorrow." The Slayer's doe eyes filled with a rare uncertainty. "Did I do a bad thing?"

Giles stared at the Slayer in disbelief. "If that's what Roger wants to do, I'd say not. It was extraordinarily generous of you to split the money with Dana."

Faith looked down and shrugged, clearly embarrassed by the praise. "She needs the help more than me."

"Yes, she does," Giles agreed. "But to split that fortune. Why, his collection of 1st editions alone is worth several million pounds."

"Dusty old books worth seven figures?" Faith gaped at him. "If he fell downstairs tomorrow would that be technically considered a bad thing?" Giles glared at the Slayer. She grinned. "Said that aloud didn't I? Oops."

* * *

"Yes dear," Roger sighed. "I know, dear. I'll miss him too. I have some things I'll have to discuss with you tonight-." 

Suddenly his door flew open. "Mr Whyndham-," Dana's face dropped. "Sorry, sir," the girl backed out. "I didn't know. I'll come back later."

"Nonsense dear," he waved the young woman in. "I'll just be a moment. Have a seat."

"Who is that?" his wife's grief-stricken voice queried.

"Dana, I've told you about her."

"Ah yes, invite her for tea tonight, that poor child's never left that damnable headquarters of yours has she?"

"There's a reason for that-."

"That young lady hasn't got any family. She's not yours and Rupert's slave, and she will come over."

Roger winced at the note of hysteria in his wife's voice. "But of course dear," Roger sighed, realising this was one argument he wasn't going to win. "Dana," the girl looked up, "would you like to go for dinner with my wife and I?" The young woman beamed and nodded. "She'll be happy to," he spoke into the phone. "We'll be there about eight."

"I'll have Garth make up the spare room," his wife said. "He was a good man."

"Yes," Roger nodded, "a fine man who did a great deal of good." Sighing slightly, he hung up.

"Are you alright Mr. Whyndham-Pryce?"

Roger's heart almost broke at the girl's concerned expression. "Fine, my dear. Now what did you want?"

"I thought maybe there was some jobs I could do? Lifting or something? Mr. Giles is talking to Faith in private, he doesn't need me right now."

"I'm at a loose end at the moment," he smiled before reaching into his desk and pulling out a book, one his wife had bought for Wesley when he was just a child, "so if you want, we could find out what happens to Aslan now that the White Witch has got him?" His heart tightened at the girl's excited nod. Reading to a child, such an underrated pleasure and one he had so stupidly forgone with his own son.


	5. Chapter 5

**FIC: Heroes Never Just Fade Away (5?)**

"Damn it, X," Faith moaned as her boyfriend's hands expertly, lovingly, explored her body. "I am gonna rock your world." Lowering her head she started to kiss her way down X's body, eagerly unfastening his -.

"I'm going out! I'm going out!"

"Shit!" Faith snatched at her top, yanking it back on at record-speed as the room door crashed open and an excited Dana rushed in. Turning to face the other Slayer, she froze her with a glare. "Ya ever heard of fuckin' knocking?"

"Sorry, Faith."

Faith felt a jolt of guilt at Dana's crestfallen face. Scrambling off the bed, she hurried over to her younger counterpart. "That's alright, kid," Faith tousled the other girl's hair. "Just knock in the future. It's polite, right?"

"Yeah," Dana nodded, an innocently inquiring look on her face. "What were you and Xander doing?"

Faith shot a chuckling Xander 'a not helping' glare, before turning back to the younger Slayer. "What are you so excited anyhow kiddo?"

Dana stopped trying to peek around her and at Xander. "Uncle Roger," Faith heard but ignored Xander's snort, "asked me if I would like to go and have tea with him and Mrs. Whydham-Pryce, and Mr. Giles said I could!"

"That's great, kid," Faith gave her friend a hug. "But you be good, k?"

Dana nodded. "Oh yeah, sure, Faith. Mr. Giles has already told me I have to be a good girl."

"Dana will be fine," Xander commented. Faith glanced over her shoulder to see her boyfriend re-fastening his shirt. Damn. Faith comforted herself with the thought that getting it off the first time hadn't been any great ordeal. "You wouldn't dream of doing anything wrong would you?"

Dana shook her head. "No, Xander. Xander?"

"Yes honey?" her boyfriend queried.

"Were you kissing Faith? Do you hold each others' hands?"

"Oh lordy," Faith muttered under her breath, choosing a cleaner curse in lieu of her usual filth as Dana's mouth went into hyperdrive, asking unanswerable question after question. A pre-teen with Slayer energy, truly hell on earth.

Finally, Dana ran out of words or oxygen. Or both. After staring expectantly at them, Dana flung her arms around Faith, squeezing the air out of her lungs. "I'm so excited!" the previously insane Slayer screeched in a high-pitched tone that probably had dogs the length and breadth of England diving for cover. "I'll tell you all about it tomorrow!"

"Uh, uh," Faith and Xander exchanged uncomfortable glances. "Truth is kid, we might be gone by the time ya get back." Again the younger Slayer's face fell. "Sorry hon," Faith tousled the other girl's hair.

"We'll come by and see you before you go."

Dana's face lit up at Xander's words. "Promise?"

"Yeah," Faith glanced at her watch, it was close to four, "what time ya leaving?"

"Uncle Roger said he'd pick me up at his rooms at quarter past seven."

"Meet ya there then, kiddo," Faith promised. "And ya can phone me tomorrow and tell me all about it!"

"Okay," Dana beamed before hugging her again and rushing out. "Bye!"

"Bye!" Faith called before slamming the door shut and turning back to Xander, a seductive look entering her eyes. "So, three hours. Just how are we gonna spend them?"

Xander grinned goofily. "I've got a few ideas."

"Oh yeah?" Faith smirked. "Then," stepping towards her boyfriend, she shoved him onto the bed, "let's get to it."

* * *

"Hey kiddo." 

Dana jumped up at the sound of her hero at her door. Standing, she checked herself in her full-length mirror before flinging her door open. "Hey Faith! Hey Xander! What do you think of my dress? It's my special occasion dress for special occasions!"

Faith smiled at her. "Ya look wicked, kiddo, don't she X?"

"You look very pretty, Dana," Faith's boyfriend agreed.

Dana blushed. She'd hate anybody else but Faith for dating Xander, well except Willow but she liked girls everyone knew that, but it was alright that Faith had Xander, Faith deserved him because they were both heroes. "Thank you."

"Five by five," Faith's face took on a stern expression. "Remember everyone's trusting ya by letting ya go on this trip out, so ya be good."

"I will!" Dana nodded.

"Of course she will," she beamed as Uncle Roger appeared behind her hero. "And you'd both be more than welcome to join us?"

"I don't know," Faith scuffed her feet, her brave friend for once looking nervous. "Me and X, kinda got plans-."

"Oh please, Faith!" Dana pleaded. "You're going away again and I hardly got to see you!"

Faith looked at Xander. Dana's heart leapt when Xander smiled and nodded. Faith nodded. "Yeah, thanks. We leavin' now?"

"Indeed we are," Uncle Roger smiled at her, "you look very pretty, Dana."

* * *

"I understand you're leaving with Vi and Rona in the morning?" 

Connor stopped in his training to look at the man he vaguely remembered as his father. "That's the idea."

"I was thinking," Angel looked as uncomfortable as he felt, "I overheard the two of them discussing wrecking a demon bar tonight, would you be interested in tagging along with them?"

"A chance to create carnage and mayhem?" Connor struck a thoughtful pose. "Let me see. Yes."

"Great, they leave in twenty minutes."

A sudden suspicion struck him. "They don't know we're going do they?" he queried.

He realised his father had an almost devilish smile. "Ach, where would the fun be in that?"

"Cool," Connor shoved the 750 lbs he'd been benching into the rack and rose fluidly. "Is Faith coming?"

Angel smirked again. "You get she's with Xander?"

"Can't blame a guy for asking," Connor shrugged.

Angel chuckled. "Don't let Xander hear you asking."

* * *

Faith spent the half-hour journey to the deputy Council head's mansion in a rare, uncertain silence. Her taking tea or whatever crazy shit the English called it with the parents of a man she'd half-tortured to death? What crazy shit was this? The English were absolutely fuckin' nuts. 

Except the only thing she wanted to do less than this was crush Dana's hopes. For some fucked up reason the kid idolised her, but her duties meant she wasn't in England much, the majority of their relationship was conducted by long transatlantic calls, so the least she could do when she was in town was spend as much time as possible with the troubled Slayer. "We're here."

"Wow!" Dana's eyes widened at Rog's announcement, the kid's mouth not having shut since they'd left the Council compound. "It's really big isn't it, Faith?"

Faith forced a smile as she looked up at the three storey building with its imposingly ancient architecture that was maybe older than her home country. "It is that, kiddo," she agreed.

Dana squealed in delight. "Race you, Xander!" The Slayer shrieked before leaping out of the car and running across the lawn towards the house.

"She really doesn't get the concept of being a Slayer does she?" Xander grinned at Faith before setting off after Dana, although he kept to a rather more sedate walk up the path.

Leaving her with Rog. "Sorry about, uh," her usually glib tongue deserted her, "coming and all, uh, only Dana would be -."

"Nonsense my dear," Whyndham-Pryce chuckled, "the opportunity to have not one but two beautiful young women as my house-guest is a rare pleasure for one of my advanced years. Of course," the older man chuckled, "my wife and your boyfriend are inconveniences," Faith blinked. "Ah well, one will have to make do. Shall we?"

The walk up to the stately home only took a matter of seconds, but for Faith, it seemed like an eternity. Once at the front door, they were met by a well-built, bullet-headed man in his mid-forties. "Madam and the other guests are in the drawing room, sir."

"Thank you, Garth," her host took her leather jacket off her and passed it to the servant, "please hang Miss. Lehane's coat with the others."

"Yes sir."

Once the butler had disappeared, Roger spoke. "Good man, pensioned off by the Paras five years ago, all these army cutbacks," the Watcher shook his head, "bloody disgrace. Please dear," the Englishman motioned to an oak-panelled door. "Through here."

"Yeah," Faith tore her gaze away from the hallway's paintings. She didn't know shit about art, but she knew they were wicked classy.

"Ah," Roger chuckled as they made their way across the wood-panelled floor, "you like my art collection. Townes, Cozens, and the like. None of this modern art rubbish."

"Yeah," Faith nodded, her discomfort increasing at being surrounded by all this rarefied culture. She'd never even finished high school, now she was expected to talk fine art? This was one big fuckin' mistake.

Whyndham-Pryce stared at her, as if guessing her disquiet. "I'll let you into a secret," the Watcher opened the door for her, "knowledge of culture, an university education doesn't mean much, next to the ability to think on one's feet." Faith smiled at the man, surprised at his insight. The Watcher smiled back, his smile tinged with more than a hint of sadness. "Yes I know I have a reputation as an insensitive prig, but even an old fossil such as myself can learn."

"I never said that!" Faith protested.

"No, my dear, you are far too much of a lady," the Englishman smiled. "I said it. Now," her host turned to a formidable old-looking bird, "Faith, please meet my wife, Alice."

* * *

Rona stopped and looked around, eyes peering into the darkened London alley. "Do you sense it?" 

"Relax," Vi counselled with a shake of her head, "you're imagining things. It's just a guilty conscience, thinking what Mr. Giles would do if he knew we were here."

"Yeah," Rona nodded reluctantly. "I guess." She glanced left and right. "Ready?"

Her girl-friend smiled impishly before pulling out a gleaming axe. "Ready," she confirmed.

* * *

"They don't have a clue we're here, do they?" Connor exulted in a whisper. 

"They're a lot easier to track than Buffy or Faith," Angel confirmed, his eyes focussed on the two young woman ahead of him, vampire eyes ensuring the shadows were little cloak for them. "Either it's a lack of experience or their instincts aren't attuned, I don't know."

"Yeah, whatever," his son said, "we following them or not?"

Angel hid a smile at his son's impatience. "We're following them."

* * *

"Another round!"" Spike slammed his empty glass on the counter. Looking around the hazy bar, he saw a motley collection of demons, no-one with any power. Well except that two hundred year old vampire who'd known him from the old days he'd killed upon entry. 

And the place was the utter pits. Crap music, shite beer, and a smell that seemed to indicate a Torlac demon had just enthusiastically used the facilities. Of course, Giles' attitude towards Buffy hadn't helped. "Wanker," he muttered. He'd been half-tempted to rush off to Italy, except he had no real way of getting there. He half-suspected if he left, Giles would gleefully use that as excuse to label him persona non grata, and no bugger with half a brain wanted that, not with the world's toughest Wicca and 600 Slayers in the opposite corner. Besides, what was coming was bad. Maybe after they'd sorted that out he'd give thought to going after Buffy.

"Hi every-body," Spike headbutted the counter as he recognised the voice. "In case you're wondering, we're not tourists, we're Slayers. And it's time for us to wreck the place."

"Oh bloody hell," he muttered as he sensed an even more unwelcome presence approaching. "Can't a bloke get a pint in peace?"


	6. Chapter 6

**FIC: Heroes Never Just Fade Away (6?)**

"The memories of the shell say that the one called Wesley thought well of you."

Giles blinked at the leather-clad goddess' pronouncement. Her way of talking took some getting used to. "He did?"

"He considered you a leader of your people in the same way he thinks of the vampire," he grimaced at being compared to Angel. Illyria laughed. "Hate flows off you like water over a dam. How great of a warrior can you be when you distrust your mightiest ally?" the goddess sniffed. "Ask me your questions. Such as you cannot trouble the mightiest of the old ones –Illyria!"

Giles swallowed a groan. He could tell this was a big mistake, two minutes in and he already hated her.

* * *

"Hey-," the beautiful young woman coughed. "Hello." The Slayer offered her a hand. "Pleased to meet ya, ma'am."

After a second, Alice took the girl's hand, noting the slight trepidation in the young woman's gypsy brown eyes. "A pleasure, dear," she smiled. "Why don't you come through?"

"Yea-, thanks."

"Faith! Faith!" Dana leapt up excitedly at the other Slayer's approach and began jumping up and down on the spot. "Mrs. Whyndham-Pryce said I could have a room of my own here and come and visit her and Mr. Whyndham-Pryce on the weekends!"

"That's great kiddo, but you don't jump around people's furniture, I mean this stuff is antique," the Slayer coloured slightly and looked towards her and her husband. "Not sayin' it ain't nice, just that's it's old and you should like respect other people's stuff."

"I understand exactly what you meant, Faith." Alice turned her gaze towards Dana. "And Faith is quite correct. This isn't a play-ground, Dana. Please, sit down."

"Sorry Mrs. Whyndham-Pryce." The younger Slayer quickly sat down.

"Good girl," Alice smiled before turning towards Faith. "Dear, would you like a drink before dinner?"

* * *

"Oh really?" Giles scribbled furiously as Illyria talked. Once he'd got past the goddess' over-powering arrogance he found she was a treasure trove of fascinating information. Some of the species she spoke of were long extinct, but others, why she'd divulged the weaknesses of three of the deadliest demon species still alive as well as debunking a number of the oldest creation myths. "And the Scarellus Of Mythonia?"

His office door crashed open and five of his Slayers rushed in. "Mr. Giles!"

"Impudent children!" Illyria was between them in a second. "You think to interrupt the mighty Illyria when she is talking?"

"Look pal!" growled one of the girls, a busty scouser by the name of Sandra. "You might wanna calm down before I put the nut on you!"

"Illyria, please," Giles tried for a calm tone even as he nervously eyed his collection of rare books. A brawl in here and three decades of collecting could go down the drain. "No disrespect was meant but I'm sure my Slayers would never interrupt us except on a matter of grave importance. Girls?"

As one the Slayers turned away from eyeballing the goddess, although each kept a wary eye on her, and towards him, their faces all showing signs of nervousness. "I was doing a round of the quarters and found five people were unaccounted for," reported Eliza, a sweet Mormon girl from America's east coast.

"Let me guess, Angel, Spike, and Connor," Giles groaned. Normally he'd have Faith as one of the missing, but she was out with Xander and Dana. "Which two Slayers?"

Eliza hesitated before answering. "Vi and Rona."

* * *

"Ladies, gentlemen," Faith looked up when the butler entered. "Dinner is served in the dinning room."

"Can I sit next to you, Faith?" Dana babbled excitedly. "Please, oh please."

Faith smiled uncertainly. "Maybe we should sit where we're told kiddo. This isn't like the Council canteen."

"I should say not," Roger boomed. "The food is of a rather higher quality. Cooked by a former Ritz chef. However," the aging Watcher smiled at them both, "on this occasion I don't see why you shouldn't sit together."

"Thanks Uncle Roger," Dana beamed.

"Quite alright, dear," Roger smiled back. "We're having an English speciality tonight in honour of our colonial guests. Roast beef, Yorkshire pud, and all the trimmings." Roger winked at her. "I hope that won't be too English for you?"

Faith's stomach growled as they reached the dining room entrance, wonderful smells wafting to her. "No," she replied. "I guess that'll be okay."

"And you my dear," she looked down when Alice took her elbow and guided her to her seat, "can pay for your dinner by telling me all about your Slaying. After almost fifty years of listening to Roger's stories, I could do with some new ones."

* * *

Spike shook his head as the entire bar rose and charged the two Slayers. "Stupid bints." He sighed as a vampire rushed past him. Drawing his stake, he slammed it into the demon's back, the demon bursting into dust a half-second later.

"Hey! He was a bloody good custo-, ugh!"

He cut off the bartender with an elbow to the throat before grabbing him around the back of his head and slamming him face-first into the plastic counter, denting it with the force of the impact. "Right then!" he rose off his stool and threw his arms into the air. "Which of you buggers is next?"

* * *

"Thank fuck that's over with," Faith let out a long-held breath as she closed the door to the room Garth had shown them to behind her. A whole night of Dana pleading for her to tell Slayer stories to the very parents of the man who should have been her Watcher had been wicked strange. And this in a life that had seen her fall in love with a man she'd tried to murder.

Xander raised an eyebrow. "They were okay."

"Yeah, that's my point, I tortured their son half to death and they invite me around for tea and crumpets?" Faith shook her head. "Forgiving me after what I did, how fucked up is that?"

Xander stared at her. "I forgave you," he pointed out.

"Yeah," Faith smirked. "But I kinda gave you an incentive plan. Although," she tilted her head to one side and pursed her lips thoughtfully.

Xander's good eye narrowed. "Although what?"

"Ya think ya might be part-English, maybe?"

Xander scowled playfully. "There's no need to be insulting."

"Oh yeah?" Faith smirked. "Maybe you can punish me for it later."

"Maybe I will," Xander's scowl gave way to a goody grin.

Faith's smirk widened. "Can't wait."

* * *

Alice closed the door behind them both. "I must say, I was quite staggered to see our additional guests."

"Yes," he turned towards his wife. "I know, I'm sorry for springing them on you, but Dana is rather more relaxed around Faith, she trusts her. I'm sorry."

"No," the love of his life shook her head, "Faith's a delightfully spirited young woman, a real pleasure. I'm just surprised you'd invite her here."

"I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, chief amongst them the way I raised my son," Roger looked down at the carpet. "I can't ever apologise to him, I left that too late. But he was far from the only victim of my coldness. If I'd been a better father, given him the tools to relate to Faith, maybe that girl's wasted years in prison could have been avoided. If I can just make it up to her in some way."

He was surprised by his wife's chuckle. "It's strange, the tricks life plays on one," Alice ruminated. "The older you get the more you remind me of the handsome young man I fell in love with."

"Is that right?" Roger pulled off his jacket and began to unfasten his tie. "Well at this very moment I'm feeling very young indeed."

His wife's answering smile was impish to say the least. "Oh, and what should we do with this unexpected fountain of youth?"

"Oh," he took his wife in his arms. "I've a few ideas."

"I just bet you have."

And that was the last either of them said for quite some time.

* * *

"What are you doing here?" Vi shouted as the Slayer glided beneath a wild haymaker from a four-armed Tentra.

"Keeping my arm in." Spike grinned wickedly before shoving a bottle through the skull of a towering, horn-backed Lethra. The Lethra grunted before falling to the ground. "You?"

The red-head grinned briefly before grabbing the Tentra's bulky arm and leaping into the air. Her hands still secured around the monster's limb, she swung around the back of the monster, wrapped her legs around its thick neck and twisted. Spike winced as the monster's head exploded off its shoulders and the Slayer dropped to the ground beside him. "The same," she replied.

"Hey poofter!" Spike watched as his grand-sire pulled an axe from beneath his overcoat and easily beheaded a Mulkar. "Took your bloody time didn't you?"

His grand-sire shot him a familiar irritated glance even as he back-elbowed once of the club's bouncers into the wall. "Shut up, Spike."

"No bloody fun," Spike leapt backwards, hands out-stretched, and hand-sprung onto the counter. Seeing a near-by vampire, Spike grabbed hold of his pony-tail, pulled him up onto the bar, and smoothly staked him.

* * *

"Seven!" Angel groaned as Spike continued to crow. "That's bloody pathetic. You losing your touch in your old age, grand-pop? Ten, that's how many I got!"

Angel glared at his grand-childe. "You were there a lot earlier," he replied through gritted teeth. "We had to follow the Slayers from a distance."

"And why was that?" the peroxide blonde queried. "Why was that? Because you had to follow from a distance in case they heard your bloody walker, mate!"

"Do you two ever shut up?" Connor queried as they reached the outer wall of the Council compound.

"He started it!"

"He started it!"

His son sighed. "Guess not then." The demon hybrid looked at the stone wall. "Shall we?"

"Let's." Angel agreed before leaping over the twenty foot obstacle in a single bound. The moment his feet hit the dirt-packed ground, he groaned. "Giles."

"Quite," the Watcher strode out of the darkness, a score of Slayers with him, and a less than pleased expression on his face. "Might I ask why you left camp without permission?"

Angel groaned inwardly at Spike's expression, he knew that look. Trouble always followed that look. "Didn't realise we were prisoners, mate."

Giles' smile was more than a little Ripperish. "Until I ascertain who's side the pair of you are on that's exactly what you are."


	7. 7

**FIC: Heroes Never Just Fade Away (7?)**

"Excuse me!" Angel's temper flared. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to!"

Giles didn't flinch. But then, the Englishman did have ten Slayers stood behind him. "Someone who's trusting you two rather more than he really thinks he should."

"Trusting us," Spike spat on the ground between them and the Watcher. "That's bollocks and even the poofter's smart enough to know that!"

Angel decided to ignore that to continue staring at the Englishman only for the Watcher to return his glare with scorching interest. Angel had the feeling that the Englishman would be more than happy with waiting until dawn, but he wasn't about to give the Watcher the satisfaction of looking away first. "Uh, Mr. Giles," a suddenly timid-sounding Rona put in, "it was me and Vi's idea. We thought we'd go out and keep in practice by taking out a demon bar. Angel and Connor just followed us."

"Yes, well," Giles' glare shifted an inch to the two Slayers. "I'll be speaking to you two about your behaviour, don't you worry. And William," Giles' predatory stare moved to Angel's grand-childe, "why were you there?"

"Overheard them planning it," Spike put in. "Figured they might need some back-up, so went ahead of them and waited."

Giles looked to be about convinced as he was by that line. After a shake of the head, the Englishman turned around. "Girls, I want four of you on Angel's door, four on Spike's, and two on Master Connor's-."

"Hey," Angel's temper rose again. It was one thing to distrust him, quite another to doubt his son. "There's no need for that!"

"Given his parentage I'd say there was every need," Giles glanced at Rona and Vi, "young ladies, we'll talk in the morning. Good night."

* * *

"Last night was quite the scene, wasn't it?"

Angel stopped in his sparring with Connor to turn and glare at Spike. "Look, if you've come here to gloat about killing more demons than me, don't. And that Crai is worth any three of your kills anyhow-."

"And they're off again," Connor muttered.

"Nah," Spike smirked at him as he strutted into the training room, lascivious eye drifting over a number of the working out Slayers. "I was talking about Tweed-Boy, he really doesn't like us, thought he was gonna set his Slayers on us-."

"Uh dad," Connor interrupted.

Angel ignored his son in favour of trying to reason with Spike. "Well, you kill a man's girl-friend and he tends to take against you," Angel shrugged. "And he had said don't leave the compound."

"Yeah, but it looked a bit dicey for a minute there," Spike commented. Angel nodded, Giles' hatred and distrust was a worry. He turned to comment on it only to stop as he registered the figure stood in the gym's doorway.

"Tried to warn you," Connor muttered.

The moment his eyes rested on the east coast Slayer, she spun around and fled. "Faith!" he yelled after the Slayer.

"Oh bollocks!"

* * *

Giles looked around his office and smiled wryly. Dana wouldn't be returning for quite some time, and without her childlike enthusiasm and guileless babble, the office seemed strangely quiet. But at least the Slayer's absence afforded him the chance to get some work done. "Or maybe not," he muttered as he reached for the .38 in his desk drawer as his door crashed open. He relaxed as he recognised the intruder, mouth opening in gentle reproval only to shut it and warily eye the gun in his open drawer at the incandescent rage on his uninvited guest's face. "I hope your stay at Roger's was agreeable Faith," he said, his tone carefully courteous, "and how can I help you?"

The beautiful young woman appeared not to be mollified by his tone, choosing instead to pace the floor. "I heard about you throwing down with Angel, when are ya gonna get he's one of the good guys?"

"That remains to be seen," seeing the Slayer's cupid-shaped mouth open, he hurried on, "Faith, you are more than aware of Angel's past."

Faith stopped in her pacing and spun to face him. "Ya can't trust him 'cause he did bad shit in the past? What about me, I tried to kill Xan and B, kidnapped Red, did a whole bunch of shit. Ya saying the same about me?"

Giles hid a wince at the defensive desperation in the brunette beauty's chocolate brown eyes. "No of course not, dear," he soothed. "You've proven your worth a hundred times over the last year, helping us with the First, the vampires you've slain, and not least putting Xander back together. While this year, he and Spike have been working for Wolfram & Hart."

"Angel took out the Circle of the Black Thorn! Jesus! They're one step down from the devil's board room for fuck's sake!"

Giles sighed, the girl was nothing if not loyal. "And what if he did that merely to take the Circle's place?"

"Angel wouldn't do that!" Faith's hot defence came in a second.

"He killed Drogyn, the Deeper Well's guardian to convince the Circle of his intentions! That's how ruthless he is!"

Faith's eyes shadowed. "He didn't have any choice."

Giles resisted temptation to shake his head. Sometimes he worried that Faith was going the same way as Buffy, although at least the brunette managed to keep her loyalties and Slaying separate, something Buffy had singularly failed to do. Comforting himself that he'd know about Angel's trustworthiness one way or the other soon, he already knew Spike wasn't to be trusted, Giles changed the subject. "I have your plane booked to take you back to the states just after night-fall. Your Slayer teams have already been given their missions. Except for the teams consisting Sunnydale veterans, you'll all be doubling up, and the area's second-in-commands will be compounded at their bases with a minimum of ten Slayers until this is over with."

Faith glared at him for a second before nodding. "Fine!" she snapped before walking out.

Giles sighed. Such a wonderful girl, such conflicting loyalties.

* * *

Gunn stirred in his sleep, the pain in his side agonising. Blinking his eyes open he looked up to see a nondescript white ceiling staring back at him. He tried to sit up only to wince and sink bank onto his bed when the pain inside him increased substantially. Where was he? "You are awake."

"Kinda stating the obvious," he muttered before forcing his throbbing head to turn to his right and blinking his eyes clear. Finally he was able to focus on the figure stood by the door, Illyria. "Where are we?"

"This place," Illyria looked around, "is known as the Council of Watchers. It is home to many warriors."

"Oh yeah," Gunn vaguely remembered Faith and a bunch of other warrior babes turning up just before he passed out so that made a sort of sense. He nodded his head, then wished he hadn't as the world tipped on its side. "The others?"

"The vampires survived," Gunn's stomach hollowed at the goddess' hesitation, "Wesley did not."

"Yeah," Gunn gasped as the pain of Wesley's death hit him a second time. The first time, he'd not had time to grieve, too busy hurting and thinking of the battle ahead, but now, the agony he felt made the pain in his side seem like nothing. "I kinda remember. What's happening?"

"The vampires have left with Slayers to fight the forces of evil. I stayed here at the request of the Watcher leader," the goddess paused momentarily, "and to make sure you were alright. The shell and Wesley would have wanted it."

"Well," he winced, partly through the pain in his side and partially through the guilty memories of Fred. "Thanks."

Illyria nodded curtly. "The shell would have wanted it," she repeated. "She had affection for you."

And that truth made his part in her demise so much the worse.

* * *

"You shouldn't be angry with Giles."

Faith glanced up at Angel as he slid into the plane seat beside her, Xander having taken his customary seat up beside the pilot of the jet, one of the six jets the new, improved Council owned, for the plane's take-off. "You wanted to hear the shit he was saying about ya! How come I get a second chance but ya don't?"

"Because you never killed the love of his life," Angel smiled sadly. "Yes, I know it wasn't me, but after that, Giles only tolerated me for Buffy. And now I've spent the last year working for Hell. Inc, which only deepens his distrust." Angel shook his head. "You know the night Angelus murdered Jenny, Giles came after Angelus, Drusilla, and Spike, on his own. He's a dangerous man to anger."

"Yeah, but you ain't Angelus," Faith protested. "I know Angelus," Faith shuddered at the memory, "and you ain't him."

Angel shook his head. "Giles doesn't know what I am, that's the problem." Angel looked up. "Xander's on his way back." The vampire rose. "I'll go sit in the back. I've earned Giles' dislike with all I've done, don't defend me, I'm not worth risking all you've built up for."

"Yes, you are," she whispered as her friend walked to the back

* * *

Rio

"That's his plane!" Willow jumped up and down on the spot, eyes lightening up. "I'm so excited!"

"Yeah great," Kennedy grunted as she leant against a wall in the waiting area of one of Rio's most exclusive private airports. Normally she found Willow's boundless enthusiasm amusing, endearing, but when the subject was their current guest's arrival, it bordered on the annoying.

Willow stopped and turned to her, a disapproving look on her face. "You could try being a little more welcoming. This is Spike! We haven't seen him in a year!"

Not long enough in Kennedy's opinion. She'd never gotten how blind Buffy and Willow were about him. At least Giles and Xander were wary, although why either of them had tolerated his presence was beyond her. "Yeah, William the Bloody. Who killed two of my predecessors."

"And who saved the world!" Willow exclaimed.

"Yeah, well, didn't he try and end it a few times?" Kennedy argued. "And spent the last year working for Wolfram & Hart?"

"I still say the other Slayers weren't needed," Willow glanced at the other three Slayers. "No offence."

Kennedy stared back unflinchingly. "And I still say they were. No offence."

* * *

Munich

"See that building over there!" Connor exclaimed. "That's Maximilianeum, home of the Bavarian parliament."

"Is this your first time in Munich, Connor?" Rona queried.

Connor pulled up short at the question. "Yes and no. Remember that memory thing I told you about on the flight over?" The two Slayers nodded. "I remember coming here in 2000."

"Before you were actually born?" Vi queried. He nodded.

"Even for our lives you're weird," Rona commented.

"Tell me about it," he agreed.

* * *

"Now, it's nearly time for dinner," Giles checked his watch before turning off the flat-screen monitor sitting on his desk. "I fancy some fish and chips from the canteen." Standing, he glanced towards the Slayer sat in the corner of his office. "Would madam do the honour of joining for dinner?"

"Sure," Dana muttered.

Giles cast a worried look at the transplanted American, her arms crossed and her eyes fixed to the floor. He'd expected to be even more excited than usual, full of tales of what she'd gotten up to at Roger's the previous night. Instead, she'd barely spoken. Ignoring aging and creaking limbs, he crouched down before the young woman. "Dana, what's wrong?" When the Slayer didn't answer, he pressed. "Dana?"

The Slayer didn't look up. "Heard one of the Slayers saying you'd been fighting with Faith, shouting and everything." The young woman trembled. "Don't like it when my friends hate each other, I want everyone to be friends."

"Oh Dana," Giles gently stroked the girl's hair. "I don't hate Faith, we just had an argument. We're still friends." Well, at the moment anyway, he silently added. "It's like when you're naughty and I tell you off. Just because I'm angry doesn't mean I don't care."

Dana looked up, a heart-breaking fear in her eyes. "You promise?"

"I promise," he extended his hand. "Now how about we get some dinner and you tell me all about your trip out?"

After a second, the emotionally-damaged Slayer rose and tentatively took his hand. "Sure."

Giles forced himself to respond to the girl's smile with one of his own. If only all problems were so easily solved.


	8. Chapter 8

**FIC: Heroes Never Just Fade (8?)**

"You humans are weak creatures."

Giles looked up at the goddess and sighed. And good morning to you Illyria, he mentally greeted. Either the goddess didn't get the concept of knocking or more likely thought such conventions didn't apply to beings such as her. "What makes you think that?" he queried.

"The one the shell knew as Gunn," the goddess continued. "He is by your standards

a mighty warrior, one capable of fighting many battles. And yet, he easily hurt and takes a considerable time to recover from his wound."

Giles quelled his annoyance at the goddess' easy dismissal of his race. "We're strong in other ways."

"I have yet to see that."

Giles ignored the contempt in the Old One's voice. "The ability to feel for one, all those emotions you sense in others, and struggle to control in yourself, we take them for granted."

Illyria sniffed. "A trifling thing, nothing to the power I possess."

"Hi, Mr. Giles!" Dana hurried in. Again without knocking, why did he even have a door? "Have you heard anything from Faith?"

"Only that they've landed, dear," Giles passed Dana her book. "Why don't you read that for a while?"

"Thanks Mr. Giles!" the Slayer beamed. "But you'll tell me as soon as you do?"

"You'll be the first to know," he promised.

"You are too soft on her," Illyria continued as if Dana hadn't entered the room. "No leader should treat their underlings with such -."

"Hey!" exclaimed Dana, her face mottling with rage. "Don't you talk to Mr. Giles like that or I'll hit you!" the Slayer stepped towards the impassive goddess. "I'm strong you know!"

"Strong?" the goddess laughed haughtily. "You are weak next to one who has walked across dimensions."

"How about I knock you through one?" Dana's anger briefly dimmed, replaced by a beaming smile. "Faith will like that, I'll have to remember that one."

"Ladies, please." Giles took his life in his own hands and hurried between the two women. "Illyria," Giles glanced towards the goddess, "Dana isn't my underling, she's my friend and my responsibility, I look after her."

"She is your child?"

Giles glanced fondly at Dana. "Close, but not exactly."

"Um," the goddess looked briefly interested. "I will have to watch you together to learn more about your relationship."

Giles noticed it wasn't a question and sighed. Today was going to be another of those long days.

* * *

Munich, Germany

"So you're the son of a vampire? After he was turned?"

Connor sighed long-sufferingly. "Two vampires actually, that's how it usually happens, it takes two babe, like the song. Weren't you informed I was coming?"

The big black man questioning him nodded. "Oh yeah, sure I got the memorandum. It's just," the black man shook his head before leaning against the wall behind them, "seeing is believing. How do your powers manifest themselves?"

Connor smiled. This guy was really starting to get on his nerves. "Got a gym?" He'd give him something to really think about.

* * *

Rio, Brazil

"Spike!"

"Right there, Willow," Spike strutted into the private airport and smiled at the withc's boundless excitement. He'd missed that. "Good to see you, Kennedy," Willow's girl-friend grunted. Unabashed, he looked towards the other three girls stood panther-like against the far wall, their aura marking them as Slayers, not in Buffy or Faith's league, but a match of the two he'd killed. "Right girls," he winked and received a trio of scowls in reply. Grinning, he turned to Willow. "A guard of honour, you shouldn't have."

"Willow's security," Kennedy snapped. "She trusts you, I don't."

"Kennedy!" exclaimed Willow, a look of shock on her face.

Spike raised an eyebrow. It was lucky he was adverse to the heat, because this welcoming committee was distinctly chilly. "Pleasure to see you too, luv."

* * *

New York

"Can I come in?"

There was a pause before he was answered. "Faith's gone downstairs for something to eat, if you go down to the buffet, and I mean the actual dining room with the actual buffet not the people in the lobby, you'll find her on her fourth or fifth steak. Steak as in meat, not stake as in you're dust."

Angel paused for a second, seething inwardly at Harris' less than subtle digs. When would Harris grow up? Did he really want to do this? Deciding for Faith's sake he had to at least try, he spoke again. "It's you I want to see."

"Oh," there was another pause. "Come in I guess."

Angel raised an eyebrow at the less than enthusiastic reply. "Thanks," he paused for a second, "I guess." Walking in, he found Xander stood by the balcony, looking out into the sunlit day. "I'm not going to bite you," he snapped. "Come inside so we can talk."

"What?" Xander looked briefly confused before shaking his head and stepping inside. "No, I was just taking in the view. You can see everything here, the Empire State Building, Ellis Island, the Statue of Liberty-."

"We're not here as tourists, Xander."

"No," the Sunnydale native shook his head. "I was just thinking, if we fail, all this, the Seven Wonders of the World, Stonehenge, and the Great Wall of China, is gone. Everything that's been built up over the last few thousand years, gone." The young man paused. "Of course if we lose Martha Stewart goes too, so silver lining."

Angel grinned tightly, surprised by Xander's sudden depth. "No she doesn't, she's a demon, I've seen the contracts."

"Figures," Xander nodded.

"Anyway we're not going to lose," Angel broke the uneasy silence that followed their initial exchange. "We've won too many battles between us to fail now, we've saved the world, what over a dozen times between the lot of us?" He paused again. "But if we're to succeed we've got to be all on the same page." Xander sighed. "Look Xander, we've got to be on the same page here, for everyone's sake, the world's sake. And I'm sure Faith would like it too."

The Californian stared at him for a long second before speaking. "You know I always got there was a difference between Angelus and Angel. Trouble was, I always thought Angelus was the more honest of the two of you." Angel blinked. He hadn't been expecting that. "With Angelus it was all torture and death, but at least he was honest about it. But you," Xander snorted. "You acted all noble to get into Buffy's pants, but the truth was you couldn't give a shit about the world as long as Buffy was okay. The rest of us, you couldn't give a damn about."

"Now hold on!"

"Remember a sixteen year old kid having to force you into the tunnels to rescue 'the love of your life'," Angel clamped his mouth shit, shame filling him, not his greatest moment. "But," the youth paused. "You saved Faith and if you hadn't, I'd not be as happy as I am now, happier than I've ever been, so I owe you. And 'cause of that, and because she wants me to, I'm going to give you a chance." The intensity in the young man's single eye was unsettling. "A Slayer once persuaded me to give you a chance, and I've regretted that ever since. Don't make me regret this time either."

"I won't," he promised. "Xander," the youth looked at him. "Maybe after this is finished, you should take a holiday and take Faith to all those places you just mentioned."

"Yeah," Xander smiled wistfully. "That sounds like a good idea."

* * *

Munich, Germany

Wood gaped as the kid who must have weighed a buck and a half tops, clean and jerked somewhere in the region of 700lbs. Any Slayer could lift a hell of a lot more, but that was hardly the point, he'd never seen a guy with those abilities. "And what other enhancements do you have?"

Connor racked the weight before turning to him. "I heal faster than humans, probably not as fast as a Slayer, but my hearing, smell, and eyes are all better than a Slayer's, much better. What's our mission?"

Wood was briefly thrown by the question but recovered quickly. "Me, you, Rona, and Vi are hitting a demonic cabal in downtown Munich. Nothing really heavy, but word is they've snatched a bunch of kids and are planning to sacrifice them to cast a depression spell."

"A depression spell?"

"Something to take away people's hope."

"Sounds fun," Connor smiled. "They could just play them tapes of my dad singing, that has the same effect."

* * *

Rio, Brazil

Ignoring Kennedy's glare, Spike put his feet up on the Slayer's headrest as their van sped through Rio, the sound of bongo drums outside and salsa music playing outside easily audible for one with his attuned senses. "What's the big plan, who are we hitting Red?"

"Some demons are acting as money men for the Colombian Cartels, they plan to meet with them here and get them to quadruple cocaine production and movement to Europe and America, create tens of thousands of new addicts and send crime rates through the roof, create more despair for the world." Kennedy replied for Willow, her tone clipped. "We're going to hit the demons before they get chance to make the meet. No money, the deal falls through."

"Nice," Spike nodded. "So when does it kick off?"

* * *

"Who's the target?" Angel queried as his two companions finished their lunch sat in their four star hotel's expansive yet tastefully decorated dining room.

"Some chick-," Faith's explanation was interrupted by a belch.

Xander and Angel exchanged amused looks. "That water's got a kick to it, hasn't it?" Xander commented.

"Couldn't be those four steaks and three chicken breasts she just ate?" Angel queried.

"I'm a growing girl," Faith defended.

"With expanding borders," Xander muttered.

Faith shot Xander a look that if Angel had been in the one-eyed man's place would have sent him leaping through the window. Xander just smiled. "You know that politician in LA. you killed?"

"Senator Brucker?"

"Yeah," Xander nodded. "New York's got one too."

"Hilary Clinton?" Xander and Faith stared at him. "It would explain a lot."

"You can't crack jokes," Xander shook his head. "It's against the natural order."

"Yes I can," he defended. "I'm a changed man. Besides I wasn't joking, but I can tell jokes."

"Yeah that's right X," Faith put in, "he just can't tell good ones."

"Thanks for the support, Faith."

"Think nothing of it, big guy."

Shaking his head at the Slayer's gleeful smirk, he turned to Harris. "When do we go?"

* * *

Council HQ, England

"Hello, Mr. Gunn."

Charles looked up from the month's issue of 'Sports Illustrated' to see a greying, bespectacled man who kinda reminded him of Wes only older, stood in the doorway of his hospital room. "It's just Gunn, and you are?"

"I beg your pardon," the man chuckled before striding in. "I'm Rupert Giles, head Watcher."

"Heard of you, from Wes and Angel, a little from Cordy too."

The man chuckled again. "Cordelia? I rather doubt you heard much about me from young Miss Chase, I was rather too fuddy duddy for her to notice me." The Englishman stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Young lady, we have a guest. Show some manners and come and meet him."

"Yes, Mr. Giles," a stunning, athletic brunette strode into the room, a shy look on her face.

"Good girl," the raven-haired beauty beamed at the man's praise, "now, introduce yourself."

"Hello," the girl stuck out a hand that he shook, "I'm Dana."

"Gun-," his eyes shot to the Englishman, "Dana?"

"Don't worry," he looked back at the suddenly sad-looking girl, "Miss. Rosenberg did a spell and I'm not mad anymore, but my brain doesn't work properly like other people's."

"It works just fine, dear," the Watcher comforted with a pat on the former lunatic asylum patient's shoulder, "now why don't you sit down and read your comic while myself and Gunn speak."

"Okay Mr. Giles," the formerly insane Slayer nodded before sitting down on the chair by the door.

Gunn stared at the Slayer. "Yes," he looked towards the sad-looking Englishman, "the sad thing is, she's better off now than she would have been if she'd never been Called if you can believe that." The Englishman shook his head. "And your injuries, how are they healing?"

"I should be out of bed in just a few days," Gunn reported.

"Excellent," the Watcher beamed. "I trust Illyria has informed you of our situation?"

"Yeah," Gunn said guardedly. Including the Englishman's attitude towards Angel.

"Wonderful," the Englishman nodded. "I was wondering that once you're fit you'd teach some classes to the Slayers."

"Me teach Slayers?" Gunn stared up at the Englishman. "From what I remember of Faith, they don't need my help kicking ass."

The Watcher chuckled. "No, true enough. But Faith is rather unique." Gunn could agree with that, he'd never quite seen a woman who could be quite so scary and sexy at the same time. "The Slayers here while sharing her skills don't have anything like her experience. And your experience would be a valued teaching tool."

"Wow!" exclaimed Dana. "A new teacher! That is so cool!" Dana stared at the Watcher. "Not that you're not a great teacher Mr. Giles! Say you'll do it!" the girl pleaded.

"Uh," Gunn smiled dazedly at the excited Slayer. Deciding it wasn't like he could help the others, not the condition he was in right now, he shrugged. "I guess so."

"Wonderful," the Watcher beamed at him.

"Is everything in place for the others?" Gunn queried.

The older man's face tightened. "Indeed it is."

"When does everything start?" Gunn grimaced, he only wished he could be with them, kicking ass and taking names.

The Englishman's face sobered. "In just a few hours."


	9. Chapter 9

**FIC: Heroes Never Just Fade Away (9?)**

Istanbul, Turkey

"Papa Bear to Mama Bear, are you receiving me?"

"Mama Bear, here," his wife replied.

"Papa Bear to Baby Bear, are you receiving me?"

"Here," came the replying grunt.

Riley's lips pulled up in a half-grin. "That's not the proper reply," he scolded.

He heard his best friend's hiss through the radio. "Baby bear, here."

Riley nodded, immediately serious, his eyes fixed on the dark warehouse in one of Istanbul's most run-down industrial districts looming just ahead of them. "Remember, any and all hostiles inside are to be terminated with extreme prejudice. If they manage to set off the bombs they've planned, we'll be talking a civil war between the Turks and Kurds. None of them get out. On my count, three, two," he nodded towards his detachment's second-in-command, "one!"

The door shattered when the C4 packed there by his explosives expert went off, the resulting boom and sound of the building's corrugated steel wall rattling reverbrating through him. "In!" he roared as he raced towards the gaping hole, H&K MP5 held ready.

The moment he stepped through the building, a Muzit leapt at him, fangs bared. He put it down with a double head-tap before moving on, eyes flicking left and right as he searched the warehouse, grimacing at what he saw. There were crates stacked everywhere and only scant lighting from a few bulbs hanging from the ceiling. The place was an ambush waiting to happen.

Even as the thought crossed his mind it was confirmed by a monstrous demon shape charging him, knocking crates over in its eagerness to attack him. His sub-machine came up, flames sprouted out of the muzzle and smashed into the monster's milky-white eyes, knocking it flat on its back, its body spasming in its death throes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of his men, a new recruit from Libya by the name of Khmus, shoot and hit a looming Mildu. But only in the chest. The demon roared and staggered but continued on at the suddenly paling Arab. Cursing, he swung around and aimed his gun.

"Mine!" Riley barely managed to avoid shooting a lightning blur that leapt between him and the demon, a sword flickering up to take the demon's head off its shoulders, blood fountaining everywhere. The demon's killer turned to him and beamed.

"Irem," Riley shook his head reprovingly at the Turkish vampire Slayer. "You should have waited for my confirmation before jumping in, I could have you shot you."

"But then he'd be dead," the Slayer shook her head, long black locks dancing with the motion, "can we discuss this later?"

"Slayers," Riley muttered with a shake of his head before looking towards Khmus. "Remember as a rule of thumb, demons don't get off if you blow their heads off. Now, let's go!"

An hour later and they'd cleared the warehouse, the explosives were defused and taken care of, and all the demons dead. Riley looked around his team. "You did well," he praised. "We're on a flight to Siberia in eight hours. That gives us an hour for debriefing, six for sleep, and then one for reequipping. Move out!" Even as he followed his troops he couldn't help but wonder how everyone else was doing.

* * *

Tel Aviv

Kate Lockley watched the nightclub from across the street, hidden in the shadows with one of the three Slayer teams that were her responsibility. It was, she reflected, a strange old world, she'd never dreamed she'd leave her home country, much less work for an organisation like the Watchers. But when Xander Harris had approached her eleven months ago, she'd been somehow compelled to accept. Being a San Diego cop seemed somehow small next to helping the entire world night after night.

And now, she was the head Watcher of their Israeli sub-office. One outside the front of the club with her, one around the back with her fellow Watcher, Justine Cooper, and the one in the no doubt considerably warmer club with her second subordinate Watcher.

"They're here," Kate tensed as she saw a van with tinted windows pull up. Her breath caught at the monster that was dragged out of the car. She'd never seen one before, not in the flesh anyway, but she knew what it was anyway. "An uber-vamp," she muttered, suddenly colder than she was just seconds ago.

Gathering herself, Kate sent a warning page to both of her subordinate Watchers before glancing towards her team. "Let's go." Looking left and right, the four of them hurried across the busy road.

By the time they reached the van it was too late, the uber and its two handlers, powerful dark mages according to their information, had already gone in, leaving the front of the club a blood-soaked mess. Stepping over the shredded corpses in the doorway, she hurried in, her mind awhirl with thoughts. An uber unleashed in this the most volatile of cities, it could easily turn the entire city into a charnel-house for both its Jewish and Arabic inhabitants.

Stepping through the shattered glass entrance, she saw that the strobe-lit club had already mostly emptied, its patrons having fled through the back fire doors opened by her other team, the dj's hip-hop still loudly playing. Turning her attention towards the club's on-going fight, she noted just how big the uber being circled by her other team was, close to seven foot tall with muscles that a WWE champion would be proud of. She grimaced as she noticed one of her subordinates lying dying on the ground, his lifeblood seeping out of a gash in his neck, and drew her gun, and sighted on the two warlocks with the demon.

Her first shot smashed into the back of the head of the nearest warlock. Brains flew out of the back of the mage's caved in skull, splattering the toilet door behind him as he slid down to the ground, body jerking spasmodically. Turning her attention to the second mage, she saw it hit the floor from a sword-strike from one of the Slayers at the same time as the demon exploded into dust.

Kate looked around her, nose wrinkling at the carnage, the smashed tables, the blood soaking the floor, and the dead corpses littered around. "Let's go," Kate shouted over the music. "We have to get out of here before the police arrive." They'd done their part, they could only hope that the city's inhabitants had the sense not to turn their city into a bloodbath over this.

Given her experience of her fellow men she wasn't optimistic.

* * *

Cairo, Egypt

Groo padded silently through down-town Cairo, the normally boisterous bazaars closed down for the night, and the stench of the refuse piled up in the winding alleys wafting to him on the cool night air.. Hearing the sound of approaching drunks ahead of him, he glided soundlessly into the shadows and waited for a noisily partying trio of two men and one woman to pass him by, oblivious to his presence.

Once they'd gone, he stepped out of the shadows and continued on his way. Zabuto had wanted to send a team of girls with him, but he'd argued that this was no work for the Slayers, and eventually won through.

This murder was to be on his conscience alone.

Hearing the creak of a door opening, he stepped into a near-by alleyway and waited until the pedestrian had continued merrily on their unmindful way. Stepping out again, he continued, the only sound now cars in the distance.

Finally he stopped outside a three storey building. Looking around to check he was alone, he stepped into the alley beside it, walked up to the side door and kicked. Wood splintered under his heel, and the door swung inwards.

Entering, he strode inside, fingers stroking the reassuring weight of the sword secured under his flapping leather-jacket, he'd styled his look on the mighty champion, Angel. His eyes searched the inky darkness, allowing his other senses to stretch out before him.

He hit the ground a half-second before a door to his right crashed open and a fireball smashed into the wall behind where he'd been stood. Leaping up, he drew his sword and spun to face his adversary.

The house owner was a short, fat man with a genial face and balding head, dressed in a towelled dressing gown and wearing a pair of horned-rimmed glasses which he peered through uncertainly. "I say," the man quavered, his mouth opening to reveal yellowed teeth, "who are you?"

"I am the Groosalug," Groo replied, warily watching the continent's most powerful dark arts mage and former Watcher. "And I am here to kill you on behalf of the Council of Watchers!"

"Kill me?" the man laughed, jowls wobbling, before drawing himself up to the full extent of his diminutive height. "I am Marcus Heidnman! The leader of the Last Dawn, and you think to kill me!"

"Your demon friends are dying as we speak," Groo replied, hoping with all his heart the girls he'd been training were alright.

Flames danced in the mage's eyes. "Maybe so," the man's mouth stretched into a death-head's smile. "But I'll not be the one joining them."

Groo leapt to the right as a fireball flew towards him, scorching the wall behind him, the smell of burning filling the otherwise cold air. Even as the mage raised his hand for another throw, Groo drew a knife and threw.

His blade flew true, straight at the wizard's left eye.

Only to stop three inches from its target, frozen in mid-air. The wizard smiled. "Please. Did you-." The mage's eyes looked down, a look of shock frozen on his face.

Groo finished dragging his sword through the mage's neck, having just forward-rolled to his side, and watched the mage's decapitated body crash to the ground. After wiping his blade clean, Groo re-sheathed it, and made a quick phone call. "It's done," he whispered as he hurried out of the darkened house. "Marcus Heidnman is dead."

* * *

Brisbane

"You're sure?" Robson pressed.

Kiah nodded, the Aboriginal's face sparkling with excitement, the light in her dark eyes only adding to the young girl's beauty. "I'm sure."

"Shall we go ahead?" asked Talia, the other Aboriginal Slayer.

Robson stared at the imposing building across the road from him and his companions, its gothic architecture at odds with the sprucely modern buildings around them. According to records at Company House, this was an importexport business. In fact it was an occult auction house, the holder of some of the world's most dangerous and feared magical artefacts. Artefacts that would be very useful for the forces of evil in the upcoming battle.

Robson turned to the fourth member of their team, a taciturn French soldier. "The CCTV?"

The Frenchman held up the box in his hands. "Still jammed."

Robson nodded before speaking into his walkie-talkie. "Are you clear, girls?"

"Clear, sir," came the crackling voice from the other side of the house.

Robson shook his head as he looked at the building. It had taken a real effort to break into the auction house, there'd been guards, booby traps, and a top-of-the-market surveillance system. But they'd done it. And then when they'd succeeded, rather than steal the tremendous power located inside the building, they'd merely set explosives to destroy it all.

Such power wood be a boon to them in the coming battle.

But with such power always came a price. And he wasn't prepared to pay with his soul. "I have my orders," he muttered, remembering Rupert's admonishments about the temptation involved. He couldn't fail the man who'd saved him. Finally he pressed the remote control.

The ground beneath his feet shook with the force of the explosion, windows shattered, glass flying outwards, and the building crumpled, almost as if stamped on by a giant foot. Robson stared at the orange-red flames flickering through the building. Even at the distance of some forty metres, the heat was considerable. "Sir? Shouldn't we be going?"

Robson glanced at Talia and smiled. "Of course, let's go."

* * *

Montreal, Canada

"Are we all ready?"

Harriet Doyle nodded, tight curls bouncing at the movement. She stared intently at the looming warehouse ahead of them. "Ready," she agreed.

Oliver Pike, rumoured former boy-friend of Buffy Summers, although he never spoke of his past, and partner and fellow Watcher for six months, nodded. "Good," the man's boyishly-featured face stretched in a grimace. "Be careful, girls." Her best friend glanced over his shoulder to the four Slayers crouched in the back of the van. "A Megadyanmis is big, very big. And strong, not smart but physically powerful."

"We know," the quartet of supernaturally powered warriors chorused.

Harriet scowled, noting the nonchalant way the Slayers responded to Pike's warning. Too many successes were making the girls complacent, a smugness that could easily result in one of them being injured.

Deciding to talk to the girls once this mission was over with, she swung her door open, leaving the van's comforting warmness for the chill of a Canadian night. As she approached the building she reviewed what she knew of the Megadyanamis. According to Watcher Intelligence it had been summonsed two days ago by a black arts mage so fanatical he had willingly sacrificed his own life to fuel the arcane ritual. Once on this plane of existence, the Megadyanamis needed three whole days to gain a full hold on this plane

Harriet ducked behind an eighteen wheeler as a pair of policeman passed by. She really didn't want to be stopped by the police, not while carrying enough weaponry to start a small war. While waiting for the police to pass, she thought some more about the Megadyanamis. The plan behind its rising was a simple but bloody one, once it reached full power, it would break loose of the warehouse and head into Montreal, ripping through anything that got in its way, creating carnage and terror in roughly equal measures. As plans went, it wasn't sophisticated but it would more than achieve its goal, that of spreading more panic and weakening the walls between this dimension and hell.

Unless they stopped it.

Once the policeman had walked off into the distance, blithely unaware either of their presence or the near-by danger, Harriet let out a tense breath. Stepping out of the shadows, she looked towards Carol and Louise, two Slayers from Alberta. "You're with me," she instructed before glancing towards Pike. "Back or front."

Her fellow Watcher half-smirked. "Our turn to take the back."

"Okay," she nodded. Heart hammering, she stepped out of the shadows and hurried towards the building, her Slayers protectively flanking her. In all the years since she'd met Francis and become interested in studying demonology she'd become convinced that many demon species were different on the outside, but on the inside wanted the same things as humans – family, a home, and to belong. But there were other species that wanted nothing more to wreck destruction and terror, and there were few demons more capable of doing it than a Megadyanamis.

Finally they reached the warehouse's rotting double-doors. She spoke into her radio, her voice taut with the strain. "In position," she muttered.

"Ditto," replied her partner.

Harriet looked towards Carol and Louise. "Now!"

The Slayers' feet simultaneously crashed into the door, flinging it open. Harriet stepped through the door, reaching inside her denim jacket for the snub nosed .32 automatic she kept there in a shoulder holster.

And recoiled in horror at the sight that met her.

The demon was beyond huge, standing an easy ten feet tall with a set of muscles that would make a World Strongest Man's competitor jealous, all encased in a yellow, plate-like armour. Its face was the visage of lurid nightmares, its mouth running from floppy ear to floppy ear and filled with the sort of teeth that could rip a man's arm off without even thinking about it. Its glowing, green eyes flanked an upwards curving horn, its gleaming point adding another foot to the monster's height.

Gathering herself, she drew her gun and fired at the monster. Blue sparks flew off its chest, but the bullets might have well as been mosquito bites for all the effect they had. "No!" she screamed as her two Slayers bounded forward, axes swinging.

Carol was first to the demon and first to hit the ground when he caught her with a clubbing backhand that sent the blonde Slayer flying into the air, pony-tail bobbing wildly, and crashing into the wall by the broken door. Louise let out a scream as she leapt into the air, axe swinging, only for her blow to bounce harmlessly off the beast's chest. Harriet saw the Slayer's eyes widen in horror even as the demon's football-sized fist smashed into her face, blood gushing out and the sound of bone smashing echoing horribly in Harriet's ears. The Slayer hit the ground in an unmoving heap.

Pike's two Slayers attacked but were similarly brutally disposed of. But no Pike, Harriet noticed as she hurried towards Louise, stepping over the broken Slayer and defiantly firing useless bullet after useless bullet into the Megadyanamis. Where was her partner?

The beast's triumphant roar shook the building. And then suddenly the wall nearest the street exploded inwards, bricks and motor flying everywhere as the 18-wheeler they'd passed on the way into the warehouse flew through the wall. The demon barely had time to turn its head towards the unexpected intrusion before the screeching18-wheeler hit it. The demon roared in pain as it was flung into the far wall, the building shaking for a second time as the truck once again crashed into the giant demon, crushing the monster between the truck and the wall.

Harriet's eyes widened as the juggernaut's door flew open and a very familiar figure jumped out. "Pike!"

"You were expecting Dr. Livingston?" her friend's smile faded as he noted the crumpled Slayers. "I saw the hammering you were all taking and figured another strategy was needed. Let's get them out of here before the police turn up."

"Let's," she agreed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Heroes Never Just Fade Away (10?)**

New York

"Hello," Todesengel rose with a practiced smile as the door to their campaign office swung open and a vampire strutted in. The handsome, powerfully-built man looked to be around thirty years old, but he could smell the power wafting off him, he was a strong vampire, possibly the strongest he'd ever met and he'd served 'The Prince Of Lies' until his unfortunate demise during the second world war. "We're not really taking on volunteers for Senator Holle's campaign at the moment," his smile widened. "But I'm sure we can make an exception for such an esteemed person as yourself."

"Ach, laddie," the vampire was definitely Irish. "Your welcome fair warms my undead heart, so it does."

"That's what the senator's about, all of the undead and hellspawn." Todsengel looked towards the man. "And who are you, sir?" he eagerly asked. The vampire had to be a celebrity, probably one of the European powers.

"Ach," the man shrugged his wide shoulders. "Names are so unimportant, don't ya think? But me, I'm Angel."

* * *

Angel smiled when the skinny demon stepped back, panic etched on his face. He might not be Angelus, but he still enjoyed the power his name had. "ANGEL!"

The moment the demon had screamed his name, he'd served his purpose and Angel thrust the stake he'd been palming home with dispassionate ease. Another demon jumped across a desk to come at him from his left, but caught a stake in mid-leap. Another charged him head on, a roundhouse kick sent him flying into the wall. As another three of the 'senatorial aides' charged him, he saw another five vampires shoving the candidate out of a door in the back of the office. "Just like Xander said," he muttered as he caught a clumsily thrown right and pulled its owner onto a stake, "divide and conquer works every time."

* * *

"This way, Senator Holle," instructed her right-hand man as he dragged her through the passageway that led to the private underground car-park that housed her black mustang convertible. "He won't catch us, we'll be long gon-." The demon's voice trailed off when they turned a corner to find an one-eyed man sat on the front of her car, wearing a long black coat.

"Hi guys," the man smiled. "Are you having fun yet?"

An one-eyed man, her mouth dried. Their extensive files indicated that Angel only knew one one-eyed man, the Sunnydale survivor Xander Harris.

Which meant, she looked behind her, the dark Slayer had to be here somewhere. Her heart dropped as she saw the third of her five bodyguards exploding into dust. Desperate to escape the coal-eyed killer, she charged towards the young man, intent on killing him and grabbing her car.

And instead screamed when he brushed aside his jacket, pointed the gaping muzzle of a shotgun at her and pulled the trigger.

* * *

"Well that was easy," Xander jumped off the car and to the ground.

"Yeah," hips swaying, his gorgeous girl-friend strutted over to him, the last of the five vampires exploding into dust. "I've been a good Slayer, killing all the nasty vamps," Xander gasped when Faith grabbed the back of his head and pulled him towards her inviting lips, "now give me my reward."

His girl-friend pressed her soft yet strong body against him, grinding her crotch to his even as she pressed her lips to his, and eagerly worked her tongue into his mouth, stroking his own tongue with erotic ease. "Please, please," he heard Angel's voice in the distance. "Don't do that. There's people with a sense of decency here."

"Jealous, Fang?" Faith asked as she pulled away and looked towards the vampire stood in the car lot's entrance. "'Cause I'm willing to rent out X's lips. At a reasonable rate."

Both he and Deadboy shuddered. "No, you're alright," Angel raised a hand, his expression queasy. "Hadn't we be best be moving onto the next target?"

"Bush, tell me Bush is a demon," Faith pleaded. "I've always wanted to kill me a president."

Angel looked at him. "You're either extremely brave or extremely stupid to be dating her," the vampire commented.

"Yeah," Xander rubbed the day-old stubble on his chin. "I can't help but think that sometimes too."

* * *

A small town, the Brazil-Colombia border

Spike stalked soundlessly through Casinha's narrow back streets, the scent of offal and desperation curdling his stomach. No wonder this small Brazillian town had turned to drugs as its main industry. It wasn't as if there was a queue of legitimate businessmen lining up to invest in it. His nose wrinkled as he stepped over a child's body crumpled in the road, turned, and crouched by it, hoping his ears had deceived him.

The coldness of the child's skin to the touch confirmed his fears. "What's up?"

Spike didn't look up from his inspection of the male. In life the kid would have been maybe 5 or 6, although it was so thin it was hard to tell and his skin-colour indicated it had been of tribal rather than European descent. "He's dead, luv," Spike finally replied to his questioner, one of the two Slayers that Kennedy had so 'thoughtfully' provided him as his escort. "He's dead."

"Drugs," the Slayer whispered. "Damn drug dealers they deserve to die."

"Yeah," Spike gently closed the boy's eyes and rose. "That they do," he agreed before striding off.

Except it hadn't been drugs that had killed the boy but poverty and malnutrition.

Just another reminder of the world's cruelty.

* * *

"A half a billion dollars," a tall, reedy man with a hooked nose and slightly crazy eyes dressed in grey flannel pants and a matching sports jacket nodded before hanging up his cell. "My broker says it's just been deposited in my Liechtenstein account."

"And you will get the other payments every second month," assured a green, scaled-covered demon with three yellow eyes, a ridged forehead, a spiked tail, and a trio of jagged thorns hanging off each of its forearms.

"This much stuff would be difficult to move without your help," the tall man commented. "And I really can't see why you're willing to do this."

"My organisation's motives are their own affair," the demon reproved. "You're making more than enough money, be happy with that."

"Hey, not arguing," the thin man raised his hands. "Just want you to be sure this is what you wanna do, don't want you changing your minds or nothing. Gotta say, you guys are quite freaky first time out. But I get you're just businessmen, just like everyone else."

"Quite so."

"Where is that vampire friend of yours?" Kennedy hissed as they watched from the roof's skylight. The businessman and his three sub-machine gun-toting human guards and four demons. There were four Slayers and Spike, if the vampire could be trusted to deal with the humans, then the demons should be no problem.

If Spike could be trusted.

Willow glared at her, they'd been constantly arguing ever since Spike had arrived. "He'll be here-." Suddenly the warehouse's doors crashed open and the peroxide blonde strutted in. "Told you!"

* * *

"Right lads!" Spike stared unabashed at the three human guards as they levelled their guns at him. "What bollocks is this then, prayer meeting?"

"Hold your fire," growled the Turpis, his less than friendly eyes falling on him. "He's a demon." The lead Turpis turned to face him. "Leave here vampire, these humans are under my protection."

"That's meant to mean sommat is it?" He started to stalk across the floor, careful to put the demons in-between him and the humans. "Who the bloody hell do you think you are?"

"I am Telka, chieftain of the Deathwalker Clan!" the Turpis thundered.

"Really?" Spike stopped and faked an impressed look before stepping towards him. "I've met some celebs in my time, Angelus, an Old One, a hell god, even the First," he smiled at the shocked mutters. "Never heard of you before though."

Before the demon had chance to react he'd leapt over his head and landed in the middle of the human gunmen. His right elbow shot out, crunching nose bone. Behind him he could hear his two Slayer escorts charging in, above he picked up the sound of Ken and her fellow Slayer leaping through the skylight.

Snatching hold of the injured human as he fell forwards, blood pumping from his shattered nose, Spike threw him on top of two of the other gunmen. He crossed crossing the space separating him from the last gunman in a blur. Snatching a hold of the man's gun, he shoved its muzzle up to beneath the man's chin even as the man instinctively squeezed the trigger.

The man screamed as he blew his face off, his blood showering Spike. By now fully vamped out, Spike leapt over to the three stumbling to their feet gunmen, grabbed two of them by the scruff of their necks, and slammed their heads together. Their skulls collided with a wholly satisfying crunch, and the two were unconscious before they hit the ground.

Spike smiled as he heard the last conscious hitman squeeze his trigger. Leaping into the air, he performed a back somersault to land behind the thug, grab his wildly swinging ponytail and fling him headfirst into a nail jutting out of the wall. The man's weapon fell from his lifeless hands only to be caught by Spike as he leapt backwards to avoid the businessman's attempts at pumping automatic rounds into him. Hitting the ground on his side, Spike sent round after round into the man, dropping his bloody corpse.

Leaping up, he saw the Slayers had kept their end of the bargain. Demon body parts lay strewn everywhere. Spike nodded smugly, no drug deal tonight. "That was a right ruckus, where are we hitting next?"

* * *

Munich

"Miserere. Solitudinem. Torvus. Tristis."

"What are they chanting?"

Connor didn't shift his gaze from the terrible scene in front of him even as he answered Rona's whispered question. A dozen kids aged between 5 and 10 laid bound and gagged on the floor surrounding a blood-stained altar while a dozen grey-cowled figures circled around them, waving incense candles and chanting. "It's latin," he replied. "What are they doing?"

"The kids are all latent empaths," Vi explained in a hiss. "Through their victims' powers and the spell they're casting, all the pain their parents will feel at their death will be magnified and spread through the entire city, crippling it."

"Nice," Connor hefted his sword, waiting until he saw Wood move into position at the opposite entrance to the darkened basement. "But we're not going to let that happen are we?" He was answered by his companions simultaneously drawing their swords. "Remember, Wood and his team are grabbing the kids, we're-."

"On slice and dice duty," whispered Vi.

"Yeah!" Connor leapt from cover and charged the demonic gathering.

The demons stopped and turned towards him but too late to save the first from a decapitating slash. Ignoring the blood splattering him, he moved onto the second, leaning away from an attempted claw-slash to head butt his opponent in the face. His opponent stumbled backwards, but to take a step backwards against the Destroyer was to step into death. His sword slashed out, taking another head.

Hearing another demon charging him from his left, he leapt into the air, thrusting out with his foot to smash a kick into the demon's throat. The cowled demon hit the ground on its knees, before it had chance to rise his sword had slashed down.

"Number three," he muttered as he dropped into a crouch, a demon's claws tearing through the dank air above. Before the demon had chance to pull his arm back he'd straightened and thrust his blade through the demon's eye.

Hearing another one charging him from behind, he realised he wouldn't have time to pull his sword out of the thrashing demon at his feet, so he leapt into a backwards somersault over his would-be assailant's head. Landing behind the surprised demon he took a hold of its head and twisted, shattering its neck. Releasing his grip, he turned to face his companions. He was pleased to see neither of them had been injured and that Wood and the other Slayers had successfully made off with the captive children. "So where's next?" He paused as he registered his companions' slightly queasy expressions. "You didn't think I got the name 'Destroyer' because of my cross-stitching did you?"

* * *

Hell

"Our losses in this war have so far been most unsatisfactory," Satan hid a smile at his underlings' shudder at his disapproval. "I think it's time we struck back."

"At the Council itself?" queried one of his subordinates.

"No, not yet," he shook his head.

"Who then great one?"

"Their allies."


	11. Chapter 11

**FIC: Heroes Never Just Fade Away (11?)**

The Himalayas

Sarki leapt from stone to stone with an agility that would have surprised any human who saw him, his knuckles grazing the stones and feet firmly gripping the rocks. Not that humans often came this high, the last had been One-Eye and Graceful Death from four moons ago, two mighty warriors who'd dared the wintry extremes to parlay a treaty with his people. Now it was his people's responsibility to keep the mountains free of demons. In exchange, the Council would not hunt the yeti and had given them many things that made the winter a little easier – blankets for the new-born, ways of directing streams so that they flowed nearer their homes, ways of making their huts stand better against the wind, and poultices that meant wounds no longer smelt foul, chief amongst them.

Yes, Sarki decided as he entered the small village he ruled over. Life was good. Sarki looked up at a buzzing sound in the air above. His eyes widened at the sight of a trio of whirly-birds heading towards his village. Perhaps One-Eye and Graceful Death had returned as they had promised with more aid and stories of battles won. Something flew out of the cylinders fastened to the side of the whirly-birds. Sarki shrugged, perhaps it was a present.

"ARRRRRRRRRRRRR!" He screamed in horror as the projectile smashed into one of the tiny huts and the wooden shack exploded in flames. He watched helplessly as fire reigned down on his people until finally the force from one of the explosions tore him into pieces.

* * *

The Clans, Romania

"I have thrown the stones, we need to move now."

Karel stared at his head wise-woman's face, noting the fear etched in her lined face. "Why, Jenica?"

His soft tone failed to soothe the old woman's voice. "They come," she hissed, the light of the candle between them, illuminating the small wagon he called his home, seemingly flickering in time with the rhythm of the witch's voice. "The devils come, our people have not faced such danger since the Scourge!"

Karel shuddered. He'd not been alive back then of course, it hadn't even been his clan involved. But his people knew the legends, knew the curse that the Kalderash had foolishly invoked in their insane lust for revenge. "Which clan?" he croaked.

The fear in the witch's eyes actually intensified. "All of them!"

"Oh yes," he gasped at the horned figure in the doorway of his wagon. "Including yourselves." Jenica's mouth opened, in a plea or a desperate spell he never knew because before she had a chance to speak her severed head was flying across the wagon, blood splattering the wall. And then the demon was on him, claws tearing at him. "So die all of the Council's allies."

* * *

The Ural Mountains

Krylo stared down impassively at the thickly forested mountains that were his domain. Spreading his wings around him, he stretched and let out a contented growl, his teeth gnashing together. Things were good for his people, better than good in fact, wonderful.

As much as he loathed to admit it, the treaty he'd signed with the Council representative Robin Wood had helped his people in a multitude of ways, not least re-classifying the Griffin as a sentient race rather than a demon. Still, he sighed as he took to the suddenly darkening skies, his people were notoriously isolationist and it rankled to sign pacts with any race. Especially those who in centuries past had sent their warrior-maidens to hunt them for the horrific crime of being non-human. Being a Griffin meant not only a long life-span, but also a long memory.

But, he sighed again as he headed towards his cave, the newly resurrected Council seemed-.

He roared in agony as fire blistered him from above, burning his golden fur. Looking up he saw a scaled beast staring down at him, its massive wings flapping ponderously and red eyes glaring cruelly at him. Its huge mouth was gaping open, salvia dripping from its glinting fangs.

Krylo bared his teeth as he realised the darkness he'd assumed to be gathering storm clouds was in fact a flight of dragons attacking his people, intent on ending the age-old feud between dragons and griffins with his people's extermination Pushing himself upwards, he flew at his waiting attacker, wings powering him upwards at the gigantic dragon. He'd fought many battles in his past, against Griffin, human, and demon, but he knew this would be his last.

* * *

Alaska

Oz stepped back from the log cabin, his critical eye assessing the work he'd just completed, exhaling icy breath as he completed his study. Finally he nodded, satisfied that the guitar he'd painstakingly carved into the wall passed muster. He looked around the small village that had been his home since his last visit to Sunnydale, a rare smile tugging reluctantly at him at the hamlet's wild beauty shadowed as it was by Mount McKinley behind it, and pine trees to its left and right.

Life was hard here, especially when a new wolf joined the pack. But these were his people, people who truly understood the conflict that the inner wolf caused and the constant struggle to control it. Nobody, not Watchers, Wiccas, or Slayers could truly understand it, only another werewolf could really appreciate it.

He imagined that some of his fellow villagers got lonely in this isolated north Alaskan village, but he'd always been content in his own company. In fact he enjoyed the quiet.

And the Council's assistance helped soften the hardship no end. He'd been shocked when Xander and none other than Faith had turned up six months ago, wanting to negotiate a treaty. With him vouching for them, it had taken less than a day to come to an agreement.

"Speaking of which," Oz looked up at the sound of helicopters. "They shouldn't be here for another week," he muttered, the supply drop was early. And, his eyes widened as he did a quick count, constituting ten rather than usual six-.

Oz's heart stopped as realisation. These weren't the usual civilian helicopters, they were military. And what were the cylinders fastened to either side of the vehicles?

His unvoiced question was answered when a projectile shot out of one of the cylinders and smashed into a near-by hut, enflaming it in a fireball that not even the Alaskan winds could put out. The ground shuddered underfoot as repeated missiles crashed into it, turning the once quiet village into a hell on earth. Oz stared up into the sky, knowing full well running would be useless, his end would soon be here.

* * *

The Highlands, Scotland

Grear stumbled into the dining room, her face streaked with sweat despite the morning's chill. "D..did you feel it?" she demanded of the three women sat at the table.

"Aye," the woman sat at the head of the table nodded, the stern look in her eyes belying her soft, almost matronly features. The woman shuddered before pulling her shawl closer, as if that would ward what was coming. "I've not slept a wink."

"Then what are we going to do?" Grear half-shrieked, voice bubbling with near-hysteria.

Grear's stomach hollowed at Minna's answering smile. There was no hope in it, just a grim acceptance of what was to come. "We be as brave as we can," the older woman softly counselled.

"N…no," Grear shook her head, unable to believe the leader of their coven would just calmly resign herself to their fate. She looked at the others. "There has to be something we can do!" she pleaded. "What about the other druids?"

She was rocked by a tear in Minna's eye. "Child," the most powerful woman she'd ever known shook her head. "You don't understand, there are no others. Not any more."

"N..no," Grear croaked. "That can't be-."

Her denial was cut short by the door exploding open, wood splintering everywhere. And then there was only screams.

* * *

Kenyan Plains

"The omens are clear!" exclaimed Morathi, his mouth dry with fear and his heart racing. "We must leave now!"

His second-in-command stared doubtfully at him from across the meditating circle. "We are Hoodoo," Jelani pronounced, his careful phrasing masking a fine brain, "the finest users on the continent. We routed The Dark Cabal. The Shadow Manipulators quail at the mention of our name. We fear nothing."

"Normally I'd agree," Morathi rose from his crouch, aging bones creaking in protest. "But we cannot face what comes."

"But our Council allies," Keb protested. "Surely they -."

Morathi snorted and laughed, the bitter sound resonating throughout the arid cave that was their base. "It is that relationship that dooms us," he replied indignantly. He had been the one who'd signed the agreement. It had been the right thing to do, and he prided himself on always doing the right thing, but now it would doom them all. Already he could sense its stinking evil approaching, soon he would hear the screams of those it killed, those who'd fallen to protect them.

* * *

Paraguay

Devante purred as he moved through the thick jungle that was his domain, his haunches bristling with pride as he looked around, confident in his command. But then why shouldn't he be? He was a jaguar-man!

There were some demonologists, Dr. Harriet Doyle chief amongst them, who considered the werewolf and the jaguar-man to be somehow related, but he knew different. They, he, were far superior to mere lycanthropes.

More than that, he was chief amongst his people, their finest warrior, a killer of many a demon foolish enough to enter his territory. He stopped as he reached the edge of his village, returning to his human form at will.

Rising, he pushed aside the bushes concealing his home and stepped into the village.

His breath caught as he looked around, eyes widening in shock at the carnage that greeted him. Bodies littered the ground, his people's wooden huts lying splintered on the blood-stained grass, scattered fires burning, the arid smell of smoke mixing with the stench of death in the air. How had he not sensed, heard, smelt, something?

Blood raging, he tried to change to his true form, all the better to roar his anger, to seek his tribe's revenge. And gasped when he couldn't reach Ahau-Kin. Something powerful, something terrible, was blocking him from reaching the Jaguar-god.

Panic now over-riding fear, he started to retreat. Hearing a twig snap to his left, he started to turn. And screamed when his body was enveloped by searing pain.

* * *

Haiti

"Are you having trouble reaching the Mysteries too?"

Chike nodded at the anxiously whispered question from a short, fat man dressed in the same ceremonial robe that he and the other nine highest of all Houngans wore in prepeation for the night's ceremony . "None of the twenty-one nations wish to talk to me," he admitted. "I feel it is time we communicate with Bondye."

"No, no, no," Keb shook his head, the oldest of the high priests looked horrified. "That is beyond reckless!"

"I feel it is past time," Chike replied, struggling to remain calm. He couldn't share the information he'd received from the Watcher's Council, of the demons stalking their world. Such information would only provoke useless panic. But he needed guidance. "Bondye will provide us with answers."

"If he wishes to," Keb sipped at the moonshine in his cracked cup. "Perhaps this is his plan, he is punishing us."

"Then," he stared at the man he'd replaced as head of their order, leader of all their island's Vodouisants, "we should ask how we can put things right."

Keb sighed before looking around the others. "Very well," the oldest amongst their number nodded. "I assume the sacrifices have been made?"

"They have," Chike nodded.

"Then let us begin."

They all closed their eyes and waited. Chike smiled as he felt the weightless feeling that always accompanied spirit-walking, it had been so long. For a few moments he luxuriated in the kaleidoscope that was the spirit-world before calling for the one true god. "Bondye," he whispered, "your humble servant beseeches an audience." Chike felt his skin prickle as a being appeared before his spirit self. The being appeared to be just a well-built man, perhaps a farm labourer of some sort, but the power flowing from the powerfully-built form made his stomach churn and eyes hurt as if they couldn't understand what they were seeing. "Bondye?"

"No," Chike gasped as he saw flames leap in the spirit's brown eyes. "Diablo."

He joined the others in screaming as the malignant spirit's power ripped through them, tearing mind, body, and spirit asunder.

* * *

Arizona

Wise Head, Fast Mouth hurried towards the tent that housed the tribal shamen, conscious that he was in for a horse-whipping. Once again his talking had made him late. As the most promising apprentice, the elders came down extra hard on him for that very reason which wasn't fair in his opinion. Readying his excuses, not that they ever did any good, he shoved the tent's covers open and stepped through.

He fell to his knees, vomit spewing from his mouth at the sight that greeted him, torn limbs and organs strewn across the sandy floor and the walls soaked in blood. Most horrifying were the heads of the nation's elders put in a neat row facing him, their eyes filled with unending terror and their mouths opened in soundless screams, soundless because their severed tongues lay on a pile in front of them.

Rising on shaky legs, Wise Head, Fast Mouth stumbled out of the tent, tears streaming down his face. "They're dead! They're dead!"


	12. Chapter 12

**FIC: Heroes Never Just Fade Away (12?)**

Eastern Slopes of The Andres, Peru

"Bollocks!" Spike snatched at a snake that leapt at him from an overhanging branch. Holding it at arm's length, he looked over his shoulder to a sweat-drenched Kennedy, the way her shorts and midriff top stuck to her lithe frame making her very appealing indeed. "What do you know?" he leered. "There's something out here more venomous than you!" He grinned at the Slayer's glower even as he threw the writhing snake into the undergrowth. He wouldn't mind a few hours in the sack with her, he'd always said a lesbian was just a woman who hadn't met the right man.

'Cept Red might not take too kindly to that. And if there was one person in the world that someone with his highly set of self-preservation instincts didn't want mad at him, it was definitely the wicked Wicca.

Deciding to take his mind off tearing the nubile Slayer's clothes off, he turned to the Witch leading the way. "What mess have you got us into this time, Red?"

"I've told you twice already!" the witch snapped.

"Humour me, Red," he said. If nothing else Red's lectures were the closest things to cold showers he could get.

"Fine," the Witch snapped again with the ill-humour she'd been continually in since they'd arrived in the jungle. The heat and humidity made Red a cranky Wiica. "Shining Path, Sendero Luminoso in Spanish are Peru's foremost terrorist group. They're Maoist in belief, calling themselves the Communist party of Peru, they're really ruthless having attacked ordinary peasants, trade union organizers, popularly elected officials and the general civilian population. Since the arrest of their leader Abimael Guzman in '92, they've only been spradoically active."

"If that's true, why are we treking through the jungle with this monster?" snapped Kennedy.

Spike glanced over his shoulder and winked. "Thin line between love and hate, love."

Willow shot both he and Kenendy burning glowers. Spike looked up, grateful for the towering trees that ensured enough cover to mean there was little difference between day and night. "They've gotten some help. You remember the Initative, Spike?"

"Oh yeah," he grunted. He'd have to live another one hundred and twenty years to forget them buggers.

"They've got their hands on some of the serum Walsh used to make the Initative super-strong and have been injecting it into themselves," the Witch explained.

"Those drugs weren't that good," he objected. "They didn't make them much of a match for a vampire of any real age. And don't they cause long-term damage?"

"More than a match for a policeman or a soldier though," Willow pointed out. "As for the long-term damage thing, they can, but these people are fanatics, they don't care about such things."

"I guess this is a wipe out mission then?" Spike asked.

"No," Willow shook her head, eyes filling with alarm. "We get the serum and get out. That's all."

"Right," Spike raised an eyebrow. Somehow he was sure things would get a lot messier than that.

* * *

Tennessee

Angel looked up from under his blanket at the terrible racket as their transport whizzed perilously through . "Xander, Xander, Xander," at his third hiss the one-eyed Watcher turned and looked towards him. "What is Faith singing?" Screeching was the more accurate but less diplomatic word. And he'd thought Cordy couldn't sing.

"The theme tune to the Dukes Of Hazard," the Californian explained. Angel stared in confusion at the youth. "A TV program in the late seventies, early eighties about a hillbilly family foiling the corrupt Mayor and sheriff of Hazard County. Oh never mind, catch the Jessica Simpson remake next year."

"Jessica Simpson?" Angel asked, getting more and more confused.

"Oh," Angel winced at the sound of tyres screeching as the car spun haphazardly around a bend before eventually righting itself, the smell of burning rubber heavy in the air, "you'd like her," Faith said cheerfully. "Dumb blonde, just the sort you go for."

Angel stared desperately at the Watcher. "Shouldn't you be driving?" he pleaded.

Xander grinned wryly. "You really want me to raise the issue with her?"

"Yo!" Faith snapped. "Still here, ya know!" Angel winced at the screech of brakes being slammed on. Faith turned around to face him, her gaze accusatory. "Ya wanna drive, Fang?" Angel opened his mouth to say he'd normally be happy to, but it was a little sunny for him, although probably still safer than the current designated driver. "Thought not!" Suddenly the car started off again.

"Word to wise," Xander said sagely. "Do not cast aspersions on Faith's driving. I did once, walked twenty miles to the nearest truck stop."

"Right," Angel eyed the back of his protégé's head warily. "Gotcha." Desperate for a change of subject and for something to take his mind off his rapidly approaching firey demise, he looked towards the one-eyed Watcher. "What's the mission?"

"Yeah," the young man's face darkened. "A Mythoia -."

"An influence demon?" Angel asked.

"Yeah," Xander nodded. "It appears the demon's got quite high up in the local far-right movement, and is using its power to make sure that politicians, newspaper editors, and police officers turn a blind eye to its actions. If its spell goes on for much longer, the whole state will collapse into widespread rioting."

"And if it ignites one state, the whole South will go up." Angel paused grimly before bringing up an even more pressing question. "Does she know any other songs?"

"Sun or not, any more comments and you're walking or in the trunk," the Slayer warned.

"Is it sound-proofed?" he muttered.

"Heard that."

* * *

Venice

"Okay," Wood whispered as he looked at his team of Connor, Rona, and Vi, the shadows of the grey-stoned warehouse in Venice's industrial district they were crouched against engulfing them. "Here's the plan. The Thesulacs will fortunately be harmless, the way they've been set up they're only able to leach power into the water supply so to turn the entire city against itself, they can't harm us. So I'll deal with them. Rona, Vi, I want you two to deal with the six vampires. Connor," he looked towards the hybrid youth, "I want you to deal with Furia."

Connor nodded. "Thanks for that." The youth moved in front of the building's wooden doors, raised his foot and kicked.

* * *

The door splintered and swung open with a satisfying impact. Connor stalked through into the shadowy building, his companions following hot on his heels. The warehouse was a cavernous chamber; two veiny-faced demons that had to be the Thesulacs were nailed to the wall, tubes stuck in them removing some sort of fluid from their bodies and into the vats beneath them. Even as they entered, the six vampires watching the process turned and charged them, fangs bared.

And then there was the Furia.

The demon stood around seven feet tall with a lithe, wiry build not unlike his own. Except he didn't have a single blazing red eye, a fang-filled mouth on each cheek, a trio of two-inch spikes protruding from each fist, and furrowed ridges running up his back. At least he didn't the last time he looked in the mirror. "Ahhhh!" the demon charged him, his back-handed slap lifting Connor off his feet and flinging him back out of the warehouse.

Hitting the road on his left shoulder, he rolled up instantly, wincing at the stinging pain in his left cheek, blood dripping down. "You wanna play?" Connor queried as he drew his double-bladed axe. "Lucky I bought toys!"

The demon leapt to meet him, spiked fists slicing through the air. Connor cart wheeled into the air, feet kicking out to smash into the two-mouthed creature's face. "Ahhhhh!" the demon let out a roar before flying back into the warehouse.

"See," Connor landed in a crouch, dust spilling out around him. Straightening, he strode back into the warehouse, the sound of the Slayers' on-going battle filling his ears. "This isn't so ha-." He dropped into a crouch as the demon kicked at him, eyes widening as he belatedly noticed the three spikes on each of its feet. "Of course," he leaned back at the waist, allowing the foot to harmlessly impale the slightly stale air where his face had been a half-second before, "I could be wrong."

Leaping back into the air, he shot out his left leg in a thrust kick, grunting slightly as his foot smashed into the Furia's shallow but shell-plated chest. Allowing the force to propel him backwards, he curled himself into a ball and somersaulted through the air, his eyes fixed on the stone wall behind. Once he judged himself in range, he kicked off.

His feet smashed into the wall, brick cracking beneath. Teeth gritted against the impact, he allowed the momentum to rocket him forward, swinging axe leading the way. "Ahhhh!" The demon howled when the stabbing point on the top of his axe tore into its shoulder as it attempted to pull away, viscera gushing forth. Connor landed with a smirk, raising his axe for another attack.

His head exploded in pain when the demon's left fist rammed into his forehead, demonic spikes digging deep. Dazed, he stumbled backwards just in time to avoid a follow-up right. Seeking to follow up its advantage, the enraged Furia charged him.

"Shit!" Connor cursed as the creature grabbed him by the throat, spindly fingers digging deep like steel cables. Even as he raised his axe to chop off the offending hand, the demon threw him to the ground and raised a foot to stamp on him.

Connor thrust his axe up. "Ahhhh!" a shocked scream erupted from both of his opponent's mouths as his weapon tore through the monster's foot, the resulting visceral spray soaking him. Pulling his axe out, Connor rolled up to his knees before the demon and swung his axe directly up. "Gaaaaaa!" the demon's blazing eye dulled as his axe flew up between its legs, cleaving deep into its groin, tearing through flesh, bone, and ligaments.

Connor's eyes widened as the thrashing beast pitched forward. Not bothering to withdraw his axe, he flung himself to the side. "That has gotta hurt."

* * *

Peru

Spike stared down into the shadowy compound below, three guards patrolling its outer edge. He counted the ten tents, four lorries, and six fires, estimating there had to be about thirty people in the camp. Not enough to overthrow a government but more than enough to start a panic.

"Here's what we'll do," Willow began.

"I should go in alone," he interrupted. It would be simpler to deal with any guards who discovered him without any near-by Slayers.

"It's too dangerous," Willow hissed.

"Please," Spike smirked as he peered out of the undergrowth, "I'm more likely to stake myself on a picket-fence than any of these gormless buggers are. I see better in the dark," he pointed out. "And I do sneaky better than anyone."

"Does he ever," muttered Kennedy.

"Okay," Willow conceded. "Bear in mind the serum is in the tent with the guard." Spike nodded as he zeroed in on the tent towards the back of the camp. "It'll be in a fridge."

Spike crept through the darkness, sticking to the undergrowth as he crawled around the camp. Eventually he came to a stop parallel with the lorries, the stench of diesel in the air and muttered Spanish travelling to him on the surprisingly cool night air. Vampire vision allowed him to see two guards stood talking outside his target tent. Seconds stretched into minutes as the two talked, but then they exchanged cigarettes and one walked off back on his circuit.

Spike sprang out of the darkness, stalking into the dimly lit camp until he was by the side of the tent's guard. "Right mate." Head turning, the custodian's mouth started to open, eyes widening in alarm, but he stopped any cry for help with an elbow to the jaw. Eyes rolling back, the terrorist pitched backwards.

Spike leapt behind the man, catching him easily before dragging him over to the lorries and shoving him under one. Walking back to the tent, he cast a hurried look left or right before throwing aside the tent opening, his hearing already telling him the place was unoccupied. Entering, he found himself in what was clearly the supply tent, boxes of food intermingled with medical supplies, and ammo crates were stacked high. And in the corner a fridge. "Dog's bollocks, mate," he muttered before walking over, grabbing the padlock secured to the door and yanking it off before opening the door.

The fridge light came on, illuminating a trio of shelves filled with test tubes. "Naughty, naughty," Spike shook his head. "What would Richard Ashcroft say?" Humming the tune of 'The Drugs Don't Work' under his breath, Spike went to work doing what he did best.

Destroying stuff. Grabbing the test tube trays, he flung them to the ground before stamping on them, glass chinking underfoot. Once the last of the trays was shattered, he turned to the tent opening.

Just as a quintet of burly, swarthy-complexioned walked in complete with Pancho Villa moustaches and, more worryingly, mini-Uzis. Spike glanced down at his pasty white hands and grimaced. "I guess with this complexion you're not going to believe I'm a native who took a wrong turn." He shrugged. "Bugger it."

He waited until the group's leader, a short but barrel-chested man, took a step towards him, eyes hard and gun muzzle pointing belligerently. Then he lunged forward, snatching hold of the man's fleshy neck, driving a foot into the man's groin, rupturing testicles, and flung the man into his companions. Three of the men hit the ground in a heap.

Spike vamped out as he charged forward, bullet after bullet from the remaining two smashing into him. "That hurt!" he roared as he backhanded both men out of the fight. Sensing the other trio rising behind him, he twisted at the waist, grabbed a thirty pound crate and flung it overhead before completing his turn.

The crate smashed into two of the men at chest-level, knocking them out of the fight. The third, the group's rapidly greying leader, attempted to raise his gun, but Spike snatched it from him, grabbed a handful of his shirt and flung him out of the tent and into a trio attempting to enter. "Plans," he growled as he leapt into the air, ripping through the tent as he flew out, "why do they always go wrong?"

* * *

Tennessee

Cletus yawned even as he passed the moonshine to Abe slouched against the newspaper's office wall, his surly gaze warning any passer-by to keep on walking. Guard duty was always a pain in the ass, but Mr. P. was the number man in the state, and under him great things were happening, so protecting him was the number 1. priority.

"Hey hon, you're with the Klan, right?"

"Well yeah, hon," Cletus' mouth dried as he turned and leered at the curvy beauty stood to their right. She was maybe 5'6 at the most, with coal-black eyes and glossy raven-dark hair that contrasted violently with her milky-white skin. The cupid-shaped lips, man the things he'd like to shove between them, he felt himself go hard at the thought.

But the body was where it was at. Tits like a Playboy centrefold, a tiny waist that a guy could fit his hands round, a perfectly tight ass you could bounce a quarter off, and long slender legs that any man would love having wrapped round him, she was a porn director's dream and all cased in figure-hugging, too tight to breathe, leather. Cletus glanced across at Abe and Earl before turning back and nodding. "Yeah hon," he grinned, showing his yellowed teeth even as he flexed his biceps in his two sizes too-small top. "We're in the Klan, real important men."

"Oh wicked," the brunette beauty husked. Hips swaying, she advanced on them. "I love the work you do."

"Oh yeah?" he joined the other three in peering down the brunette's partially-unbuttoned shirt, marvelling at the deep cleavage and full tits. "You could show us your appreciation."

"I'm sorry," the girl sighed. "But I'm going to a Kayne West concert tonight."

"Wha-," he grunted as the girl's fist and foot smashed simultaneously into him, sending crashing down to the ground. He watched through teary eyes as the bitch glided onto Abe, ducking under a right before butting his fellow Klan member in the face, blood and teeth spewing out, while at the same time leaping into the air and slamming both feet into Earl's chest, knocking him on his ass.

A snarl bubbling through his lips, Cletus reached for his knife, eyes fixed on the beautiful woman. He was gonna mark the bitch up good, make sure no man ever looked at her again. "I'm sorry," he felt a hand on his shoulder, "that's not allowed." Suddenly he was flipped round. He got a brief glimpse of an one-eyed man, then a fist smashed into his face and he was plunged into unconsciousness.

* * *

"Next time, you play decoy," Faith growled as she finished knocking out the third guard. "I feel like I need a bath after coming onto those in-bred hillbillies."

"Next time, are we going to the Playboy Mansion?" Xander asked. "Or the Swedish Women's Beach Volleyball team? Because under those circumstances I'd love too, otherwise I really doubt it would work."

Faith shook her head, listening to her man goof off reminded her why she was crazy about him. "Jackass," she scolded before stepping into her man, grabbing around the back of his neck and pulling him into a long, hard kiss with plenty of tongue. Pulling away, she winked at her man. "Wonder how Angel's getting on?"

Xander's face took on an expression of mock-hurt. "You finish kissing me, and Deadboy's the first thing you think about?"

* * *

"Hello, Mr. Tucker," Solomon's blood froze as he looked up from his desk to see the unexpected intruder stood in the doorway of the back entrance. The uninvited guest was a pony-tailed white man, thin to the point of gauntness with cold, staring grey eyes and dressed in the finest tailored suit. "It's such a pleasure to finally meet you. I do so hope you can reconsider the story you was about to write?"

Solomon Tucker shook his head. "N….no," he replied after a lick of the lips at being confronted by the state's Klan chief. "My father brought me up on tales of marching with Martin Luther King. You can't scare me. I'm printing no matter what."

"Hurt you, threaten you," the Klan head's face took on a mockingly hurt expression. "Why what do you take me? No, no, no," Mr. P. shook his head. "You're far more use to me alive. All we have to do is come to an arrangement." Mr. P. smiled. "And I'm sure we can come to an accommodation."

"You know," Tucker shook his head at the Irish brogue from behind the Klan chief, for a second there he'd started to be drawn in by the racist's calming tones, "I'm sure he can't."

Tucker looked behind Mr. P. to see a tall, powerfully-built man with striking features, the paleness of his skin highlighted by the contrasting blackness of his clothes. Mr P. turned to face the second intruder. "Now sir, there's no need -." The bigot's voice trailed off. "What are you?"

The other intruder's answering smile sent shivers up his back. "W&H's former head of LA's operations."

The racist reared back. "Angel!" he hissed.

"The same," the Irishman agreed. "Now, can we go forgo the threats part of the evening and move straight to the violence?"

"As you wish." Tucker gasped as Mr. P's jacket began to tear, writhing muscles popping out everywhere, a curved horn spouting out of the top of his forehead.

"Oh boy," the Irishman looked up fearlessly at the now muscle-bound grey mammoth glaring down at him. "You're a big one." Tucker gulped as the man's handsome face changed into something horrible. "I've beaten bigger."

The beast charged the Irishman, a backhanded slap flinging him into the filing cabinets. The abomination threw a right, Angel ducked, the punch slammed into the filing cabinet where his head had been, leaving a caved in panel behind.

"Ahhhh!" The beast grabbed hold of the crouched man by his shoulders and flung him into a near-by desk, knocking the man, the desk and its contents, to the floor. Even as Angel rose the grey-skinned monster threw a right. Angel ducked under the punch, grabbed the creature's wrist and attempted a throw only for the beast to pull his arm backwards, flinging the Irishman into a bookcase, burying him under a pile of assorted texts. "Okay," Tucker gasped again when the man exploded out of the literary heap brandishing a gleaming sword. "To quote a good friend of mine 'time to go old-school on your ass'."

The monster roared before charging at the Irishman, his speed astonishing for a beast of its colossal proportions. One second the Irishman was in front of the gargantuan, the next to its left, his sword flashing up. Tucker didn't see the attack hit home but the beast's building-shaking howl and the viscera that spurted out of its chest proved it had. Before the monster had chance to turn to face its attacker, Angel bent his knees and powered up, slashing at the creature's neck.

Blood spurted out, showering the ceiling as the monster's head crashed into the ground. Angel hit the floor in a crouch and turned to him. "We have to talk."

Tucker's legs buckled underneath him as he slumped into a chair. "Don't hurt me," he begged.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the man's deformed features smoothed out into his more human face. "Got a mirror?" He reached into his drawer and wordlessly passed the hand mirror he used to check himself before going out for an important interview. "Thanks." He gasped when the man held it up to show he had no reflection. "Got a cross or a bible?"

"Here," he pulled out the bible he kept in his drawer for reference.

"Here's the thing," he gasped as the man picked up the bible and winced as smoke started to whiff up from his hand. "I'm a vampire. Fortunately for you, one of only two in the world who won't rip your head off. And that," the demon dropped the book onto the desk before looking towards the dissolving mess, "was an influence demon. Now, he was partially right, you can't publish the story."

"But!" he half-rose out of his chair.

The vampire shoved him back into his seat. "The people you have on record taking bribes from the KKK over the last six months – the judges, the police officers, the politicians. They all did it. Problem is, most of them didn't do it willingly, they had no control over their actions. These same people will regain their control and be horrified by what they did. They won't understand it, but believe me when I tell you they'll go after the KKK twice as hard. If on the other hand you publish your article a lot of innocent people will be ruined."

"O…okay." Tucker nodded dazedly. "I won't publish."

"And you can't publish anything about the supernatural either." He closed his mouth at Angel's raised hand. "Here's the reasons. 1) Do and your career's over, no one but the nuts will believe you. 2) Those who do believe you, some of them will get it into their heads to try and hunt vampires. Do you really want their deaths on your conscience?"

Tucker nodded. "No, but I've been working so hard on the story. I have nothing left."

"Wrong," Angel shook his head. "You have your life. They'll be other scoops, right?" Finally he nodded. "Good man," the vampire rose. "Be careful out there."


	13. Chapter 13

**FIC: Heroes Never Just Fade Away (13?)**

Tel Aviv

"We've managed to stop the first three targets on the list…" Kate's voice trailed off as she registered Justine staring listlessly out of their third-floor window overlooking the city's busty night. "Is something wrong?"

"Redemption."

"Sorry?" Kate's brow furrowed at her colleague's strange answer. The red-head was fiery, prickly character but also brave, loyal, and knowledgeable about demons. They weren't exactly friends, Kate sensed that neither of them made friends easily, but she respected Justine a lot. If she was in pain, she wanted to help her.

"Do you think there's some sins you can't redeem yourself for? Some wrongs that can't be paid for?" the red-head answer.

Kate was shocked by the haunted look in her fellow Watcher's eyes. After a second she managed to fumble out an answer. "I'm not big on religion," she'd given up all thought of religion after her mother's dead, "but the Bible's very enthusiastic on the idea of forgiveness and redemption."

"Forgiveness?" the red-head's chuckle had a jagged edge to it. "How do you earn forgiveness for kidnapping a child from his doting father, then framing the father for killing the only man the boy had ever loved, and then helping the boy punish his innocent dad, listened to his father tell the boy he loved him even as he -."

Kate stared at Justine with mouth agape. She was aware of Justine's past, had read the reports of her actions. It had been part of the reason she'd agreed to take Justine on. Angel had helped save her, maybe she could somehow repay the debt by saving Justine.

But she and Justine had never spoken of this before, only of the sister whose death had propelled her into this twilight world. And to hear the bald facts was shocking to say the least. Finally she found her voice. "Angel's done far worse."

"With a soul?" Justine asked.

Kate's mouth opened and closed. She knew about Angel's involvement in the massacre of W&H's top employees. But to her mind, those who'd died had been untouchable by the law in ways that Mafia dons only dreamed of and responsible for human misery that would make Nazi war criminals shudder. What Angel did might not have been pretty, but it was the only way to deal with W&H. It might not have been legal, but having the demons they'd brought to LA to wreck chaos kill them was justice. "If Angel believes he can be redeemed, I believe you can," she evaded.

"Thanks," her fellow Watcher smiled weakly. The red-head looked towards the papers on her desk. "What's the next -."

BOOOM ! BOOOM!

Shooting her companion a worried look, Kate rose, pulling her Beretta out of her desk, ramming in a magazine of fifteen explosive-tipped rounds in and hurried towards the door. "The wards should have -."

"I know," she interrupted, "unless the witches who placed them are dead. Or the demon's really, really powerful."

"Two cheerful options," Justine snatched her hatchet off the desk.

As they reached the door it crashed open, and one of their Slayers burst through, a terrified look on her face. "M….misss-."

"Calm down child," Kate snapped. "What is it?"

"A….a demon," the young girl stuttered, tears in her eyes. "It's killing them all."

&&&

Montreal, Canada

Pike watched as his fellow Watcher worked on the reports by lamp-light. Suddenly she looked up at him. "You could help you know?"

"What and hurt my head with all those big words?" he grinned. "I'm the muscle, I leave the writing to the brains-trust." He knew someone once had hurt Harriet and hurt them badly, deceived them about being part demon or something. He didn't know the facts, they weren't close like that. Friends but not confidantes.

But sometimes, watching her profile, seeing her eyes sparkle or listening to her voice grow excited, he wished they were. Rising, he started towards the coffee machine. "Want a drink?"

"Love one, thanks," Harriet replied, her nose stuck firmly back in the reports.

Pike started to the coffee table by the window. His eyes narrowed as he saw someone pressing something to the wall. "What's that-." Suddenly the world disappeared in a ball of fire, smoke, and pain.

Brisbane, Australia

"Get the girls out!" Robson snarled as he stared towards the thumping door.

"We can't leave without you!" his head Slayer cried.

"I am your Watcher!" he turned towards the young woman. "My ankle is broken," twisted actually but there was no way he was slowing the Slayers up, "I'll never make the fire escape. Now get a move on."

"But…"

"Go, damn it!" he roared, pulling himself to his feet by the desk, feigning more effort than it actually took.

"Yes, sir."

"A Watcher always protects his Slayer," he muttered as the last of the three surviving Slayers climbed through the window. Giles had taught him that.

It had fallen apart with brutal quickness. They'd been sitting down to evening supper of cooked rabbit and potatoes when the alarm had sounded. What had followed had been a kaleidoscope of blood, guts, and terror. They'd fought through the invaded demon hordes, but at a terrible price, two dead Watchers and five killed Slayers.

But they wouldn't get the rest of his charges. Not while he had a breath left in his body.

Suddenly the door flew open and the hulking monster stepped through it. Raising his double-bladed axe in his suddenly clammy hands, he stared up defiantly. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure. Andrew Robson of the Watcher's Council, at your service."

&&&

Cairo, Egypt

Groo gasped as he shouldered the ajar door open and stalked into the darkened building. He scowled as he noticed the blood splattered and the torn apart demon on the ground. He turned to the two girls he'd been out patrolling with and drew his sword. "Stay close together and be quiet," he warned.

The two wide-eyed teens, he was suddenly reminded of their youth, nodded and drew their own weapons. They started through the reception area. "Ooooh."

Groo shot one of the Slayers a warning look as she let out a piteous moan at the sight of the receptionist's decapitated head on the counter, the top half of her head caved in. "I said quiet," he repeated the warning, ignoring his own queasiness. "Now no more. Let's head upstairs, see if there's any survivors." He grabbed the arm of one of the Slayers as she started to the lift. Shaking his head, he pointed to the spiral stairwell, hardly the ideal way to traverse a potentially dangerous building but safer by far than using an elevator that could easily be booby-trapped.

The search passed with nerve-wracking slowness, every room on the four storey building was thoroughly searched. They failed to find any-one alive, but plenty evidence of the desperate battle that had taken place. Demon bodies lay strewn through the corridor, together with the shredded corpses of Slayers and Watchers, Groo and the girls had worked with. Their feet squelched on the blood sodden carpet as they crept through the darkened corridors, jumping at every sudden shadow. Groo smiled reassuringly at his two companions, their faces now pale and tear-strained from all the death they had seen. "You've done well," he praised in a whisper before looking ahead to the last door on the fourth floor, "just one room to check and then we'll go and get some hel-."

"Dra."

Groo's heart skipped a beat at the noise, an unearthly groan, that escaped from the room in question.. Swallowing his inclination to back out, instead he hefted his sword. "You two flank me."

Pushing the door open with his foot, he stepped inside the darkened office. Bile rose in his throat at the sight that greeted him, filing cabinets mangled horribly and flung to the ground, the desk sliced in half, and the man whose office it was lying upon it. The man's body was likewise mangled beyond repair, one arm seemingly hanging on by the scarcest ligament or tendon, blood dripping from a myriad of wounds, and his head hanging at an impossible angle, the man's usually dark complexion now grey with pain.

"Sammuel!" In a second, Groo had strode across the room to kneel beside his friend. "Sammuel, we'll get a -."

He was interrupted by a gurgling chuckle. "Don't bother lying to me, lad. I know when I'm on my way out." Tears welled in the veteran Watcher's eyes. "Didn't expect it to hurt quite so much though.." The man raised his 'good' arm, the one that was merely broken rather than just hanging on, and grabbed his shoulder, a serious look on his face. "Tell her, tell her I'm sorry."

"Tell who my friend?"

The dying black man's mouth opened in a grimace, blood dribbling out of the corner. "Kendra-."

"Yes," Groo nodded. "And how may I contact her?" Realising his friend and mentor had died, he closed the man's eyes and gently lowered him to the carpet. Looking up, he forced a smile for the two weeping Slayers in the doorway. "There will be time for tears later," he gently reproved. "Our concern now must be escape."

"W….who's Kendra?" muttered one of the girls.

"I do not know, some daughter or other I imagine. There would doubtless be some mention of this Kendra in Council Records." Groo rose. "Quickly now, we must leave here before whatever forces of evil that committed this atrocity realises we live."

&&&

Munich

Vi smiled as Connor's mouth opened to laugh at the end of the story she'd just been telling. Her blood chilled at the dangerous flicker that entered her new friend's eyes. Before she had time to react, the teen was leaping across the table at her. Her hands came up to block, but she was unable to prevent him crashing into her, flinging both he and her over the back of her chair and to the ground. Anger quickly replacing shock, she raised her fist to crash a punch into the hybrid's mouth.

And then the window exploded inwards, two men crashing through on lines, their sub-machine guns tattooing the walls level with where they had been sat. Before anyone else had chance to react, Connor was up and between the two intruders. His hands shot out to either side and grabbed each intruder under his chin before yanking their heads together with a sickening, skull-cracking crack. Vi gasped as the supernatural man turned to her, a glacial look in his eyes. "How?"

"I smelt demon," the youth explained. "My instincts took over."

"They're," Vi forced her eyes to the two corpses hanging on their lines like dead fish, "human."

"Yeah," her companion scooped up his sword. "They are. That means the demons must be coming at the headquarters from a different direction."

"Rona!" Vi's heart missed a beat at the thought of her best friend and lover.

"Yeah," Connor picked up her sword and flung it to her.

She scooped the weapon out of mid-air. "Let's move!"


	14. Chapter 14

**FIC: Heroes Never Just Fade Away (14/?)**

"Oh good lord," the phone fell from his nerveless hand, unable to believe what he'd just heard. He started slightly at a knock on his door. "H…hello?" he hated the quaver in his voice, but he felt as if he'd aged 20 years in the course of one phone call.

"It's Gunn, Mr. Giles," the African-American's deep voice came through the doorway, "you wanted me to report once I'd held my first training session. But if you're busy-."

"No, no," Giles shook his head. A gentleman kept his appointments. And he so did not want to be alone at this moment. "Please, come in."

"Thanks," the door swung open and the black man strode in. "Yeah, the girls are high-spirited but that's to be-," the demon-hunter's voice trailed off, his eyes widening as he took in Giles' doubtless haggard appearance. "You like death warmed up."

Giles chuckled hoarsely. The young man was closer than he realised. "But not my own, always someone else's."

"Mr. Giles," the young demon-hunter sat down in the seat opposite, "what's wrong?"

"Many of our allies have been butchered." It was an effort but he managed to stop his hands from trembling. "Throughout the world, demons, sentient life-forms, witches, and humans allied to us have been massacred. Some remain, The Last Norse in Sweden, The Samurai Way in Japan, and the Aboriginal Dreamers in Australia weren't attacked. And the Slavic werewolves and the gargoyles of southern France all managed to escape their attackers, but the rest…."

* * *

Gunn gasped as the building shook and he was flung to the ground, pain flaring through his wound. "What the hell was that?" he demanded. 

"I don't know," the Englishman stood over him, offering him his hand. After a second he took it. "I suspect nothing good. I suggest we endeavour to find out. Shall we?"

"Yeah," Gunn grabbed a double-bladed axe off the martially-decorated office's wall as the Englishman took a broadsword. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

"You best not speak to me like that again!" 

"Impudent child!"

"Thank the lord," Roger muttered as he pulled up outside his destination. Two hours in the car with Dana and Illyria would test the patience of a saint. And god knew if there was one thing he wasn't, it was saintly. Still, he looked towards their destination, heart beginning to beat just a little faster, he had to admit he was excited. To be the first Watcher to ever enter the Deeper Well was an unimaginable honour and thrill.

Rupert had asked him to take Illyria to the Deeper Well in the hope that her knowledge and experience of the place would somehow help them to harness the place's power. When Dana had learnt he was going out, she'd pleaded to join them. And as usual these days he'd given in.

Although he was convinced this trip was a wild goose chase concocted by Rupert to get Illyria out of his hair for a few hours. Roger smiled reluctantly. Rupert was a trickier bugger than his appearance suggested.

"Come," the car nearly flipped over when Illyria climbed out and slammed the door shut behind her, "I grow tired of listening to her. Let us get this journey over with."

"Man," Dana pouted, "who stuck a stick up her ass?"

Roger's lips pulled up in a half smile. He didn't have to guess who'd taught the emotionally-damaged child that particular saying. "Language, Dana."

"Sorry, Uncle Rog."

* * *

Gunn followed the Council head into the corridor, a combination of wood-panelled walls and stone-paved floors. Usually the building, with its mounted animal and demon heads and lavishly illustrated paintings of England's imperial history, stunk of money, but right now it reeked of pant-wetting fear. The Englishman slid to a halt just ahead of him. Giles turned towards him, eyes demanding. "Can you hear that?" 

Gunn strained his ears and nodded. "Screaming."

"Just so," the grim-faced Watcher hefted his sword before starting down the passageway to the left. And once again coming to a screeching halt. "Oh bugger."

Gunn peered over his shoulder to see a group of grey-cowled lean figures gliding towards them, their spindly arms ending in gleaming scythes, the air seeming to decay and putrefy as they passed through it. After a second he managed to croak a question. "What are they?"

The Englishman's one-word answer chilled him to his core. "Reapers."

* * *

The way down into The Deeper Well was via a dusty, seemingly endless stairway, its stone walls callused with age. Finally they reached a circular room before a narrow bridge over an unsettlingly deep chasm. The bridge was encircled by a wall containing dozens upon dozens of apparently ancient tombs. 

"The Old Ones," there was a note of infinite smugness in Illyria's voice. "They remain encased in their prisons while I roam free."

Roger's eyes widened as Dana started across the bridge. "Dana," he began.

"I wanna look!" the child shouted before rushing off.

"That girl needs disciplining," Illyria coolly stated, eyes disdainful. "A spirit that bright offends-."

"What she needs is love and care," Roger interrupted through gritted teeth, fists clenched. Two hours of Illyria's disdainful arrogance had brought him to the end of his tether.

"Ha," the Old One sneered at him. "I have the memories of the host, it seems to me your own son experienced little of this care when he was alive."

That last comment sent him racing over the edge of sanity and into the realm of blistering rage. "Now see here, you bloody slapper!" he barked. "How about you shut your cake-hole about matters that you don't bloody understand? And I'll re-pay the favour by not laying a nut on you!"

"Moderate your tone, insect!" The Old One didn't look frightened or even offended, merely confused. "What is this language you speak in?"

"Oh for the love of-," Roger shook his head. He finally worked up the nerve to tell the Old One what he thought of her, and she didn't understand a word he said. Bloody typical.

"Uncle Roger! Uncle Roger!" His train of thought disintegrated at Dana's alarmed shout. A second later and the Slayer-child burst into view, a terrified look on her face as she raced across the bridge. "Demons!"

* * *

"How do we kill them?" Gunn demanded, hands slicking with sweat as he clung onto his axe, eyes fixed on the approaching menace. 

"Kill them?" the Watcher's voice trembled.

"Giles!" he snapped, ignoring his own fear. "The Slayers!"

"Quite right old chap." The Watcher blinked, colour returning to his face. "Chop their bloody scythes off! But don't let them cut you, one touch no matter how minor will kill instantly!"

"Good enough!" Gunn barrelled forward, ducking under a swing from the leading Reaper on the right side, thrusting the point at the top of his axe into the demon's side.

"YAAAAAAAAAAAW!"

The creature's screech set his nerves on end and his heart pounding even faster than before. Ignoring that, he ducked under the creature's wildly-swinging scythes as he dragged his weapon loose. Once his axe was free, he quickly slashed left then right, each blow taking a scythe at the wrist. Another screech and the demon's suddenly incorporeal corpse floated to the stone paved floor.

Gunn grinned as the next demon flew at him. They no longer held any fear for him. He could kill them, that was all he needed to know.

* * *

"Oh bugger," Roger swallowed as he looked at the six hulking, six-tentacled grey blobs following the Slayer, their mouths uncomfortably full of teeth, their only other noticeable feature their lack of eyes in favour of a pair of antenna sticking out of the top of their heads. He glanced towards Illyria without much hope. "Other guardians?" 

"These creatures are Tengobs, foul creatures. I will kill them and show them that Illyria is master of all."

"Very well," Roger smiled as he drew his sword. Suddenly he felt thirty-five again, fighting alongside his own Slayer in his halcyon years, just before Wesley's birth. He smiled at Dana as she came up beside him and drew her own weapon. "You'll do fine, love."

And then the monsters were on them, tentacles slashing through the dark air, sharp teeth ripping through the space. But as formidable as the creatures appeared to be, they were as naught beside Illyria.

The goddess dived amongst them, their tentacles bouncing off her as she slammed blow after blow into them. With every punch a fissure would open up in their grey hide. When one had suffered enough damage, they would simply disintegrate.

And then one of them got through. "I'll save you Uncle Rog!"

Roger's eyes widened in horror. "No, Dana! Stay here!"

Too late. The Slayer bounded forward, moving at her kind's usual awesome speed. But as quick as the tragic beauty was, the monster was even quicker. Even so, it seemed to Roger's horrified eyes that the demon was moving in slow-motion. He saw the creature's tentacle snap back, piston forward, and then collide with the on-rushing warrior. He saw her body shudder with the impact, the weapon rip through her and then be yanked out. He saw the blood explode from her body and her legs buckle.

And then he was standing over her, sword raised as he glared at the monster, daring it to attack again.

The monster lurched towards him, antenna triumphantly twitching. And then the beast hit the ground, Illyria on top of it as the Old One punched it into oblivion.

"Please Uncle Roger, I don't want to die."

Roger's eyes blurred at the young woman\child's sobs. This wasn't right, all the pain she'd suffered to die like this, but it was inevitable, the beast's thorned tentacle had ripped a hole in her stomach and side that not even a Slayer could heal, her life-blood spurting out of her. If she wasn't a Slayer, the shock would have killed her already.

"There is a cure in the Deeper Well." His gaze snapped up to the watching Old One. "A potion that the Well's last champion used to prolong his life centuries past its natural span-."

"Get it!" he hissed.

"But there is a price to pay," Illyria's eyes chilled him to the bone. "Should she use it, she will be bound to this place forever, forced to serve as its guardian."

He looked up to the blue-haired goddess imperiously stood over them, hating her for her impassivity. "Do it," he begged.

"Very well," Illyria nodded before marching off.

A forced smile on his face, he turned back to the wounded girl and gently stroked her hair. "You just hold on, alright," he pleaded "I know I don't ask you to be brave because Faith told me that you're the only girl braver than her in the entire world."

Dana half-smiled at the mention of her idol. "Faith said that?"

"Of course she did. She told me you were a born fighter," Roger replied as he squeezed the girl's hand. "You'll be up and about in no time, just you see." Noting how the Slayer's eyes were dimming, he looked around desperately, trying but failing to pierce the surrounding darkness. "Illyria!"

"I am here," the goddess announced. "Remove your hand from the wound," she instructed, "otherwise you will suffer the same fate." Roger quickly obeyed, wincing at the sticky hotness dripping down his arm. His eyes widened as he saw the goblet in the Old One's hand, recognising it as the most sought after artefact in the world, the Holy Grail. And then the blue-haired woman was tipping the goblet, a glowing water gushing over its silvery rim to splatter onto the Slayer's gaping wound.

"So colddddddd!" Dana's half-closed eyes shot open as she threw her head and screamed, lithe body writhing helplessly. Roger stepped forward to somehow assist the Slayer, shocked by her reaction.

And stopped dead when she slumped back to the ground, the mortal wound in her side healing before his eyes, the colour returning to her face and arms. "A miracle," he muttered. Kneeling down, he stroked the girl's hair. A second later, Dana's eyes opened, filled with renewed life.

"I will stay with the child," Roger stared at Illyria, shocked by the Old One's words. "The world outside is no longer fit for one as powerful as me. This is the closest thing to home, I am still first," a sudden sneer flickered across the former Texan's face, "amongst the Old Ones. And the child," the Old One's face softened a smidgen, "you and the other Watcher have shown me someone should look after the young."

"Y….you can't leave me!" Dana wailed.

"I wish with all of my might I didn't have to." Ignoring creaking bones, he crouched down and looked at the young woman. "But if you left here, you'd die. The medicine that Illyira gave you to make you better was magical and would wear off as soon as you left here, opening up your wound again and killing you. But this place," he looked around, "is one of the most magical places in the world, and it needs a hero to protect it. A hero like you." Roger smiled as inspiration struck. "A hero like Faith. You have to stay here and become a hero, you'll do that for me won't you?"

After a second the woman\child nodded. "You'll come back to visit, Uncle Roger?"

Roger almost broke at the Slayer's piteous moan. "Of course I will dear," he forced a smile as he peered down into the beautiful young woman's eyes. "And I will make sure Rupert, Faith, and the others come to see you too, alright?" The girl rubbed at her eyes before nodding. "Good girl," tears almost spilling from him, he leaned forward and gently kissed the girl on her forehead. "Be brave, sweet child."

* * *

"You did well today," Gunn's eyes widened appreciatively when he passed the younger man a glass of rather fine Malt. "I can see why Angel puts such store -." He sighed when the phone rang. "Excuse me," he apologised. "It appears," he lifted the phone, "duty calls. Hello? Oh god, no!" Giles' eyes widened as he heard the report, his legs buckling beneath him. 


	15. Chapter 15

**FIC: Heroes Never Just Fade Away (15/?)**

Hell

Satan hissed at the most unsatisfactory report. His minion pulled back, terrified by display of anger. Satan calmed himself. "It is time that we put the back-up plan into action-."

"You mean-," his subordinate gasped.

"I mean, this dimension will be mine, and no one, no paltry Watchers' Council will stop me," Satan hissed. "Have the orders given. If the doors between our dimension and theirs can't be beaten down, then they'll have to be unlocked."

* * *

Rome

Ciro Dante glared at the 4th floor apartment that he and his three fashionably dressed companions were watching, the early-morning winds whistling around the courtyard they were in, hiding in its shadows. A senior Watcher and a team of well-trained Slayers wasted in a discreet surveillance on somebody who had deserted their calling. In his and many others' opinions such a 'pollo' regardless of her past was unworthy of such protection. Unfortunately the majority opinion meant little to Rupert Giles, a man he held in high regard and no little trepidation, and as a result he found himself out the apartment of one of Italy's most unsavoury characters awaiting the long-overdue departure of Miss Summers and her sister.

Shaking his head, he stepped back into the wall. Noting the Slayers hadn't spoken in quite some time, he turned to commend them for their discipline and quiet.

His heart missed a beat when he realised the three teens were stood statue-still; their mouths open in silent screams of horror. "H…how?"

"A modification of your own Cruicatmen drug, my own little spell, and viola as the French would say," he spun back around to see an elderly looking man dressed in the sort of garb he would expect a gardener or labourer to wear, "three mortified Slayers. Like your Cruicatmen, the effects will wear off in 48 hours, but of course as their brains won't have received oxygen…." The man sighed and shrugged. "Dealing with you is far more mundane." Ciro looked down at a pinprick on his hand. "Just a snake venom that you should be feeling," Ciro gasped as the man blurred, "right about now."

* * *

"Ah bella! Bella! Am I not fortunate indeed to have two such beautiful house-guests?" Dawn rolled her eyes as the Immortal gushed and her sister ate up all the praise. Clearly the brain damage from excessive hair dye use was even worse than she thought if Buffy couldn't see through this slime-ball. "And how are you two enjoying your breakfast?"

Dawn went for a teenage shrug. She paled as her shoulders failed to move, some strange paralysis afflicting her. Sweat appeared on her forehead as she tried and failed to move, not even able to speak. Looking across the table, she saw a stunned and frightened look on her sister's face that she was sure was reflected on her own.

"Ah, it's always good when a chef receives no complaints," the Immortal leisurely stood and walked into the kitchen. Dawn's breath caught when the man returned a seeming lifetime later carrying a gleaming broadsword. "For months I have had to put up with your inane prattle about things that no sane or intelligent man would find of the least interest. For week upon week I have to stifle my natural inclination to throw you out and get a real woman, a woman with intelligence and grace. The sacrifices I make in the service of my master," the Italian Playboy smiled. "But at least he granted me this one request."

Dawn wasn't even able to give her sister the dignity of a farewell scream as the Immortal's sword slid through the older girl's neck, ripping her head from her shoulders, and showering the table, the wall behind the decapitated blonde, and her in blood. "Ahhhh," the Immortal groaned as if coming down from a drug high. "That was good!"

The Italian playboy spun around at the sound of a door opening. "Ah, Miguel, I judge from your presence the Slayer's watchdogs are dead?"

"As you say master," the newcomer was an aged man with kindly eyes. "All dead. And the Slayer herself?"

"The stupid girl is dead," Dawn wished she could flinch as the Immortal reached out a long finger and stroked a strand of her hair. "We have the prize though."

"Truly we are blessed," the old man briefly bowed his head, "our master will be most generous if we-."

"When we succeed," the Immortal corrected. "Our master will not tolerate our failure."

The old man bowed lower. "As you say."

"The others are here?" The Immortal asked. The old man nodded. "Excellent, have them move her into the van. And remember, not a drop of her blood is to be spilt. Not a drop."

"Yes sir."

* * *

Wolfram & Hart Offices, Rome

"Have this done! And we will speak of it no more!" Ilona Costa Bianchi beamed as her subordinate ran off. It was so uplifting to have such power, a drug she'd never tire of, not if she lived to be another hundred years. Hearing the elevator door slide open, she glanced towards it. There was always someone interesting visiting her offices.

Her mouth dropped open as she recognised the leader of the group who stepped out through the walnut double-doors. HE dared come here? "Security!" she screamed like the fish-wife her mother had always been as she stepped forward and spat at the intruder's feet. "What do you think-."

The Immortal's gloved backhand slap to the face knocked her to the ground. A casually delivered kick to the ribs kept her crumpled on the carpet. "Foolish woman," the Immortal laughed. "Did you ever think to wonder why I have lived so long, why there is no record of whatever spell or ritual I underwent to live as long as I have?"

Ilona paled under her tan. "You serve our master?" she stared up fearfully at the man, conscious that her security was watching but not daring to approach the man.

"I serve our master," the Immortal confirmed with a smirk. "But.," Ilona bit back a scream when the man reached down and sunk his fingers into her shoulders, bruising the tender flesh before dragging her to her feet, pushing her against the wall, "at a much higher level." The man's smirk widened at the whimper that escaped her mouth. "Serve me well, and there might be a position for you when our master arrives." Her blood ran cold at the man's smile. "Fail me and you'll scream for death."

"A….anything you want," she shivered and trembled. She wanted to call him a liar, but there was a coldness in his eyes that dared her to do just that and something that told her doing so would cause her the torments of the damned.

"Excellent," she shuddered as the Immortal tousled her hair, his touch strangely reptilian. "I see our relationship improving already." The Immortal's face sobered. The man looked over his shoulder to a stock-still teen stood there, flanked by two of his companions, alligator-faced bipeds with the physiques of gorillas. "Do you recognise her?"

"It is," she gasped as she recognised the lithesome teen, "the sister of the Slayer, Buffy Summers!"

"The sister of the deceased Buffy Summers," the Immortal corrected. Ilona gasped. "It was a simple thing to kill," the Immortal laughed, "such a simple thing." Again the Immortal sobered. "I want you to increase security, no-one gets in or out of this building-."

"But our clients-," Ilona gulped at the Immortal's raised eyebrow. "It will be done. We will speak of it no more."

The Immortal nodded. "You seem to be a slower learner than I hoped, never mind. I want a private room for her," the Immortal glanced at the frozen teen.

"You can have my private quarters," she instantly volunteered.

Her words were rewarded by an instant gleaming smile. "That's better," the Immortal slapped her butt and chuckled at her blushing, "lead the way my dear."

"Yes sir," her cheeks burnt as she registered the number of her juniors watching her humiliation. Even if by some miracle she overthrew the Immortal, her position would never be the same.

Deciding to turn her mind from such thoughts, she led the Immortal and his entourage through the office's spacious corridors. "If I might ask, why have you kidnapped Miss. Summers?"

"You are of course aware of her past as the Key?" she nodded mutely. "When the goddess Glory died, it was believed that Miss. Summers' existence as the Key was over. That was incorrect, our master has discovered an extremely dangerous ritual that will turn her back to the key, and enable her energy to be used to unlock the door to our master's dimension."

Ilona felt her mouth dry. Her master here, her soul quailed at the thought, even as a foul dirty part rejoiced. "How?" asked Ilona.

"It's complex, but it involves bleeding her of all her blood, thus leaving nothing behind but the energy that powered the key, but it has to be done in a controlled manner, otherwise the gates to ALL the dimensions will be opened. So the bleeding takes time."

"How long?"

The Immortal smiled. "Five days, one day for each litre in her body. Then hell will come to earth."


	16. Chapter 16

**FIC: Heroes Never Just Fade Away (16/?)**

Buffy dead.

Faith glanced around the hushed boardroom. She was honest enough to admit she didn't much care Summers was dead, there'd be bad blood between them forever. Except, she winced inwardly, for the pain it caused the two most important people in her life – Angel and Xander.

Angel looked like grim death himself, eyes colder than icebergs and face tighter than a noose. X on the other hand looked to have collapsed in on himself, and hadn't said a word since they'd got the phone call some sixteen hours ago, eyes teary and face etched with guilt.

Which was fuckin' stupid in her opinion. To her mind B was like a ton of self-destructive junkies or drunks she'd known back in the day, if they wouldn't help themselves, you had a choice. Hold on tight and probably go down with 'em. Or cut them loose and save yourself. It was cold, but it was the only thing to do, especially when you had other responsibilities, like protecting the planet.

Still, although she wasn't known for her diplomacy, she was waaaay too smart to give voice to that particular opinion. She was onto a good thing with X, and unless she wanted to completely screw it up, she had best keep her mouth shut. She sure as hell wasn't shedding crocodile tears like Ken was though. She managed to avoid a dismissive sniff, girl was way too whupped by Red.

Finally impatience took over. "Why was Dawn snatched anyhow?" she asked. "What's so important 'bout her?"

G started at her voice. After a second the head Watcher looked up, his face grey and looked to have aged ten years in the past day. "I…it appears," Faith winced at the never before heard tremble in the Englishman's usually firm voice, "t…that Dawn," the Englishman took a breath before starting again, "that Dawn could be returned to her previous state as the Key."

"Uh?" Faith figured she better ask the question 'cause no one else was gonna do. "I thought after Gertrude -."

"Her name was Glory, Slayer."

"Whatever," Faith eyeballed Spike. No way she was putting up with any of his shit. Way she saw it any vamp except Angel was just a walking dust-bag, before turning back to G. "After that hell goddess was creamed, I thought Dawn became human?"

"She did," Giles looked down for a second before raising his gaze. "However it appears the forces arrayed against us discovered that she could be returned to her former state, although the process is extremely dangerous-."

"Huh," this time it was Connor who interrupted the conversation, his expression confused. "I wasn't even born last time," man she felt old at that, she could practically feel the wrinkles forming, "but wasn't it really dangerous then?"

"Not like now," a red-eyed Willow interrupted. "Before it would cause cracks between our dimension and Glory's, but this time, if it goes wrong, dimensional cracks between this dimension and every other in the existence would be created, allowing all manner of beasts access to earth."

"Huh, huh," Faith nodded. Most of this was going way over her pretty lil head, but she understood enough to be worried. "So what we gonna do about this?"

"Do?"

Faith forced herself not to snap at Giles' glazed expression. He had after all just lost a daughter. 'Course an uncharitable part of her muttered inwardly that maybe he'd have more than one daughter if he'd given her, the kid who really needed someone, a tenth of the attention B had gotten. Shoving aside the unimportant past, she nodded. "Yeah, to stop the world from ending?"

"I..I've made a plan." Everyone turned to Willow as she spoke. "We need to get Dawn out of W&H in the next 48 hours -."

"How come we've got time?" Faith asked.

"If Dawn isn't bled," Willow flinched and would have fell but for a supporting hand from Kennedy, "slowly, a litre each day for five days, she'll explode causing the multi-dimensional leakage I mentioned before. But after that point, three days after Dawn's abduction, I'll be able to prevent her exploding, but not dying." Willow paused for a second before continuing. "There's four entrance points to W&H's offices-."

Faith listened intently as the witch outlined her plan but didn't speak, now that she'd got the ball rolling she was content to let others iron out any problems they saw in it. When a still worn-out Giles finished, Faith rose and headed out of the room, a slightly coming out of his coma Xander beside her. "Faith!" she looked behind her to see Willow hurrying behind her. "Can I have a word?"

Faith shrugged. "Sure."

"In private?"

Faith looked towards X. "See you back at ours, I'll pick you up before we go see Dan."

* * *

"But you said-."

Willow interrupted the brunette beauty with a shake of her head. "No, I just made that up to spur Giles into action." The curvy Bostonian stared blank-eyed at her. "You know if I said I couldn't find a solution, Giles would hold off until it was too late."

"No fucking way!" Faith snapped, head shaking violently. "You can get fucked!"

"Faith," despite being far more powerful than the brunette beauty, Willow couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by the bestial rage burning in the Slayer's ebony eyes, "this is the only way."

"Oh right!" the Slayer's scoff wasn't even slightly amused. "That big brain of yours, all that power and this is the best you can come up with?" The curvy Bostonian shook her head. "Bullshit, you just want me to do this so you get Xan back."

"Faith," Willow tried again, ignoring the hurt the Slayer's words caused her, knowing full well the raven-tressed beauty was upset. Still, she thought they'd moved past their Sunnydale experiences, but apparently they hadn't. And now it seemed they -, Willow shook her head. "Faith," she was pleased when her tone held steadier than before, "this is the only way, if I had more time I could maybe find another solution. But we don't." She offered the solution to the Slayer, the object seeming far heavier than its weight. "Please," she pleaded. "You're the only one I can ask to do this."

"Why?" She was alarmed to see tears misting in the east coast's native's eyes. "Because I'm a murderer, a street kid, because I don't have any morals? Because I'm nothing but a skank?"

"Noooo," Willow shook her head. "Because you're strong, Xander, the others wouldn't be able to face doing it, but you can. You're the only one."

"Fine," Faith snatched the object from her. "I'll do it!"

"Thank-."

"Don't bother!" the Slayer shoved past her and out of the room. "I hope you rot in hell!" she screamed before slamming the door shut behind.

Willow stared at the shut door for a long second before falling to the ground, rolling into a foetal ball, and crying, huge tears rolling down her cheeks as she shuddered helplessly. What had she done? If god was any judge, Faith would probably get her wish.

* * *

Faith's breath caught as she entered the Deeper Well, awed by the vastness and age of the place. And she'd been to Ceasers' Palace so she wasn't easily impressed. "FAITH!"

She barely turned in time to be grabbed in a rib-cracking embrace by a brunette whirlwind. "Hey Dan," despite the day's tumultuous events, Faith found herself smiling at the young Slayer's enthused greeting, "good to see ya too, only ease up on the ribs will ya? I kinda need them intact."

"Sorry," her fellow brunette pulled away as if scalded. "I've missed you."

"Right back at ya," Faith's smile became rather more forced at her friend's evident hurt. Roger had probably done the right thing, saving Dana by binding her to this place, but she doubted the emotionally-damaged Slayer would ever understand that.

"C…can I come home now?" the younger girl asked. "Have I been good for long enough now?"

"You being here ain't a punishment, you never think that," she took Dana's face in her hands. "You've got a real important job now, kiddo. Guardian of the Deeper Well, that's real big potatoes. But I ain't worried, you know why?" Eyes wide, Dana silently shook her head. "'Cause I know you're up to it."

"Honest?" Faith nodded. Dana smiled tremulously. "But you'll come visit?"

Faith's heart caught at the woman\child's plaintive plea. "Hey," she stroked Dana's hair. "Plenty of people will come and see ya, try and keep them away. Rog, Rupes, X, plenty of them." Faith looked around. "How about you give me the guided tour?" Dana nodded. "Wicked," she struggled for a topic of conversation, "living with the smurf, huh? That's gotta be a bummer."

* * *

"Faith," she ignored her boyfriend as she hurried into her quarters, heart still breaking from Dan's loneliness and her inability to change it, "why did you just run off after your meeting with Will? I thought you'd want some support when you went to see Dan, and," her boyfriend paused, "I wanted to see her too."

Faith spun to face Xander, heart filling with a desperate yearning for the last day not to have happened. ""Xander," emotion made her voice even huskier than normal, "make love to me like it's the last time ever." Eyes filling with alarm, Xander opened his mouth. "Hard day," she shook her head. "Dana, ya know. No questions," she placed a finger against her lover's lips, "just do it, k?"


	17. Chapter 17

**FIC: Heroes Never Just Fade Away (17/17) **

"NOW!"

Vi and Rona raced forward at his yell, his two finest Slayers working in their usual, perfect harmony, to attack the demons guarding the roof entrance. Wood by contrast held back, his pistol crossbow waiting for the right shot.

* * *

"Hello Angelus," the Immortal smiled as he walked into the reception area to greet his rival.

"Immortal." The vampire nodded. "You know that I killed Hamilton, I suppose?"

" Hamilton?" The Immortal laughed. "Oh that's sweet, it really is. You think that impresses me? Hamilton was a prototype; I am the finished article, the true instrument of the Senior Partners."

"I brought help," Angel smiled.

"Him?" The Immortal laughed when Spike strutted into the hushed reception area. "I beat you both once before."

"I know," Angel's smile remained unruffled. "That's why I didn't just bring him."

The Immortal felt a hand on his shoulder. Then he was spun around and into a crashing left to the jaw. "Hi! I'm Connor!"

****

* * *

Caridad, Colleen, and Shannon burst past them as they made their way into the dimly lit car park, attacking the vampires with a sort of gleeful joy that only other Slayers could match. One of the eight vampires wriggled through the brawl and charged them.

Kate joined Justine in leaping to tackle the demon. "Ahhha!" she grunted as the demon caught her with a foot to the gut, her legs buckling under her as the oxygen exploded from her body, the pain forcing her to her knees. She watched as the demon launched itself at Justine, blocking her roundhouse kick on its shoulder before grabbing her beneath the chin and slamming her headfirst into a steel-grey Corvette. Her ears reverberated to the deathly sound of Justine's stake clattering to the ground.

"Just!!" Kate's eyes widened as Justine fell, her best friend's neck shredded by the vampire's teeth. Heart racing, Kate forced her legs to work and lunged forward, her stake sinking into the demon's back, but even as he burst into dust, she could see from Justine's lightless eyes and unmoving chest it was too late, her partner was dead.

* * *

The Immortal stumbled towards him. And then launched into a leaping dropkick that would have taken Angel's head off if he hadn't flung himself over a couch and out of the way. In an instance he was up to see the Immortal grab Connor around the neck and fling him into Spike.

Angel leapt over the couch and straight into a back-handed right that launched him into one of the reception area's pillars, stone cracking with the impact. Pain lanced through Angel's back as he slid to the ground.

He saw Connor leap at the Immortal, his son ducking under a straight right but walking straight into a high knee to the face that sent blood showering everywhere. Even as Angel raced towards his stunned son, the Italian playboy caught Connor with an elbow to the head that had his knees buckling.

Spike leapt from nowhere to cannon a dropkick into the Immortal's chest. The Immortal grunted before swatting the soulled vampire away like a normal man would swat a fly. Angel tackled the Italian around the waist, attempting to dump him to the ground. Instead he caught an ax-handle to the back, driving him to his knees, quickly followed up by a back-hander to the face that threw him into the far wall.

Angel growled as he climbed back upright to see the Immortal pounding punch after punch into Spike. Not that he was bothered about his grand-childe, but if Spike got dusted, there was only him between the Immortal and Connor.

That thought was enough to launch him into the air. He landed on the demonic creation's back. Immediately the Italian playboy reached up, grabbed his wrists and effortlessly flung him into the air. "I have to give you credit," Angel groaned as he crashed through a window, hit a desk, and bounced to the floor, "you're putting up more a fight than your stupid bitch did." The Immortal chuckled. "Either to get into bed or kill."

* * *

Groo fought back to back with Kennedy, marvelling at the tiny brunette's power and ferocity. Of all the Slayers he'd either helped train or fought alongside, her skills were the most formidable.

But then they would have to be given the hordes they faced.

Suddenly he smiled. Live or die, he would do his duty and defend those his princess had once defended. Should he die, he would at least finally re-join her.

* * *

A white-hot rage scorched through Angel at the Immortal's taunt, temporarily burning his soul away. Before he knew it he was leaping through the shattered window in time to see the Immortal lift Spike above his head and slam him onto the reception desk with enough force to snap the table in two. Then, the hybrid turned his attention to Connor, snapping his son's head back with a right. The Immortal laughed as he pulled his arm back for a second blow.

"Daddy's home." Grabbing the Italian play-boy's arm, he spun him around and butted the W&H enforcer full in the face. When that didn't have any effect, he crashed a double right into the man's gut. Connor connected with a kick to the Immortal's hamstrings, knocking him forward. Angel grabbed him in a chokehold, lifted him off his feet and flung him into a pillar.

The Immortal grunted with the impact before leaping back at them. Spike leapt up and over the reception counter, grabbing the Immortal around the neck and driving him face-first to the ground.

At least that looked to be the plan. Instead the monster snapped an elbow into Angel's hapless grand-childe's chest and sent the demon crashing into the stairs just behind them. The Immortal continued on his advance.

Connor leapt to meet him, catching the Immortal with a right to the jaw, and following it up with a kick to the chest. The Immortal grunted but caught Connor's foot before he had chance to pull it away. Angel howled in rage as his son was lifted and flung through a first floor window. The fall wouldn't kill him, but it was hardly the point.

Then the Immortal caught him with a clothesline across the chest, spinning him in a three-sixty to land on his feet. A right to the face followed, instantly closing an eye. Angel attempted a groggy block but was unable to prevent a left to the mouth.

Shoving aside his inclination to back up, Angel leapt into a somersault over his opponent's head, reaching down to grab the man's head beneath the chin and pull down as he landed, dragging the man back towards him. The Italian's neck collided with his shoulder, his head snapping clean off, viscera spurting up as the air echoed to his neck snapping. "That wasn't Queensberry."

"Worked didn't it?" Angel threw the bloody head away. "I just hope the others are-." Angel looked down as his cell began ringing.

* * *

"We're here," Xander whispered as they climbed out of the stairwell and started towards the room where Dawn was being held, "all we need-."

****

"Sorry hon." Faith's elbow crashed into Xander' jaw. She had the briefest glimpse of her lover's shocked, betrayed expression, and then she was leaping forward to catch him. "I know you'd do this to shelter me, that's why it's gotta be me." Faith kissed the Sunnydaler on the forehead before lowering him to the plush carpet, slumping him up against the creamy-white wall. After wiping away the mist in her eyes, she pulled out her cell. "Fang," she swallowed at the demon's concerned tone, "just don't speak. I need ya to haul ass up to Dawn's holding place. Thanks for everything ya ever did for me. And tell Xand, I always loved him. Even before I knew him."

"FAITH!"

She closed the phone on Angel's horrified bellow before steeling herself and opening the door. "Thank god," she whispered when she walked in to find Dawn hooked up to half a dozen machines, a tube in her arm withdrawing blood from her thankfully unconscious body. Faith wiped the tears away before leaning over the ghostly white teen and kissing her on the forehead. "I'm sorry kiddo," she muttered before drawing the dagger Willow had given her. "Way it has to be," she pressed the knife to the younger neck, took a breath, and dragged the knife towards her in a brutally efficient slash.

Faith screamed as the power flew up the dagger and her arm, ripping through her, tearing her body, mind, and soul into a thousand pieces and scattering them across the cosmos.

****

* * *

Sweat glistened on Giles' forehead, dripping into his eyes to obscure his vision as he stared at his watch. The attack would have started twenty minutes ago. They would get news soon, they had to. Dawn had to be alright.

"Nooooooooooo!"

Giles spun from pacing the room at the scream. His heart hollowed at the tears rolling down Willow's ashen face. In an instance, he was knelt by the witch's side, his hands clasping hers as she shook and wailed. " Willow," he forced his tone to remain calm, "Willow what's wrong?"

"It's done," the witch whispered. "The fissure is closed."

"Well that's-."

"Noooooo!"

Giles stared into the witch's reddening eyes. " Willow, please I can't help you unless you talk to me, please."

"No-one can help me, I made her do it." The witch sniffed.

Giles swallowed, his fear growing like a hollowing tunnel in his stomach. " Willow, what have-," remembering blame probably wasn't the best way to go, he started again. " Willow, please tell me what's happened?"

"There never was any way to close the fissure, not like I said. Please," Willow shook her head at Giles' opening mouth, "if you ask me anything I'll never be able to finish." Giles forced his mouth to close. "Once the Immortal's spell started, there was no way back, any attempt would have torn the planet apart. Unless…" Willow gulped and sniffled. "Unless Dawn also died."

"No," Giles whispered.

Willow didn't seem to have heard his mumble. "I gave Faith a knife, a dagger I'd made myself. When Faith killed Dawnie," Willow whimpered, "no when I had Faith kill Dawnie, the power of the Key whip-lashed up the dagger and ripped Faith apart, splitting her essence to a hundred different dimensions."

"Faith too," Giles mumbled.

"She's dead," Willow whispered. "I killed them both."

**The End**


End file.
